


STAR WARS: The Old Republic - Mastery

by TheLastEnvoy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alchemy, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Animal Instincts, Beast Mode Sex, Corruption, Exophilia, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Force Bond (Star Wars), Furry, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Long, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Plotty, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Redemption, Seduction to the Dark Side, Sharing Body Heat, Size Difference, The Force, Trauma, Violence, exophile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 108,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastEnvoy/pseuds/TheLastEnvoy
Summary: Something is stirring in the underlevels of Coruscant — an unseen enemy that has infested the foundation of the Republic. After a major terrorist incident within the halls of the Galactic Senate, Jedi Knight Jett Jhazar and SIS Agent Theron Shan are thrown headlong into a conspiracy that could call into question everything they have ever fought for.As the two of them grow closer. romance blossoms but can Jett keep his Cathar instincts in check? Or will his primal urges overcome his better self? With his position in the Jedi Order at risk, he and Theron work together to defeat this new threat.But to master an enemy, one must learn to master himself.
Relationships: Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython & Theron Shan
Comments: 24
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Will be posting new chapters every day of December, so stay tuned!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two hapless Humans find they gained more than they bargained for as they uncover a dark secret lurking on the lowest levels of Coruscant.

On the deepest level of the ecumenopolis, daylight was little more than a legend.

Contrary to what many throughout the galaxy believed, few beings on Courascant had ever seen the planet’s sun or sky. A world of trillions, it was home and seat of power for the Galactic Republic. To many, it was a beacon against the encroaching darkness of the every-growing Sith Empire which, with every passing day, threatened to engulf the galaxy in war and tyranny.

For those who lived in the capital, this notion might have inspired laughter rather than patriotic pride. The surface level, with its mountainous sky towers, decorated walkways and elaborate facades, was nothing more than a gilded mask that hid this world’s true face. For every diplomat sipping Corellian whiskey in their glittering penthouse atop of one of the city’s tallest spires, there were a million beings who were starving, separated from the former by several thousand levels of reinforced durasteel. The diplomat’s world was one of bright colours, top-level security, a private platform to take them off-world whenever they pleased. The others’ was one of darkness, where hostile sentients crouched in search of prey, where savagery ruled and civilisation became a long-forgotten dream. It was said on Courascant that the deeper you went, the fewer credits there were to be found. And where there were no credits, there was no life. Only survival.

For Kane Tillon, who knew about survival, he understood this distinction all too well but never thought he would be face-to-face with it again so soon.

“Is the coast clear?”

Fando was shifting nervously beside him, the dimness hiding his frightened features. Kane shook off the encroaching sense of dread that pervaded every centimetre of this accursed underlevel and peered once again through the gap. The buildings they hid between loomed above them into darkness so fathomless that it was nightmarish. He had imagined before volunteering for this assignment that this deep into Courascant, where the planet’s beating heart of whirring machinery lay, would be full of light and activity — countless beings on walkways overseeing monstrous generators, lest the beings who lived kilometres above should experience an inconvenient power outage; pipes that growled like hungry beasts; steam hissing out of vents; giant arcing bolts of electricity flashing through the underworks like lightning.

Instead, there was only darkness and silence.

“It’s clear.”

To Kane, it seemed a bad idea to speak a decibel above a mutter. There was an unwritten oath about this place, an almost sacred air that forbade noise. If either of them spoke too loudly, some dark force was going to swoop down on them and bring it into its fold, ensuring they never saw the sun, the stars or the sky ever again.

“We should move,” Fando said, hand tight on the handle of his blaster. He, too, was whispering. “The sooner we get the job done, the better.”

Kane clutched rifle tighter too, though it felt like nothing more than a useless bar of durasteel and plastoid.

Unlike the trillions that stood on this world, he and Fando were not native Courascanti, though they both knew darkness and knew it well. Kane had spent the first twenty years of his life as a slave in Hutt Space until he had been rescued by the man he was now proud to serve. Only now was he beginning to doubt that loyalty. Had he and Fando been mad taking on this task? They had to be. So far, all they had been asked to do in the name of rooting out the evil currently plaguing this world was too monstrous to think about. And now this…

“Come on!” Fando urged, giving him a small shove. “I can feel these building pressing in on us.”

Without further hesitation, they moved out into the open, crossing a dark stretch of duracrete towards another building with only a few lights shining out of windows that were otherwise hidden. Flattening themselves against a wall, they kept to the deepest shadows as they stealthily made their way along to the main entrance.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

It was the fourth time Fando had said this and it made Kane feel no better about the situation. But he couldn’t argue with Fando, either. This whole operation smelt bad. Why had they been sent here? How was this supposed to prove their loyalty?

Catching the sleeve of his thought, Fondo asked, “Do you think they’re onto us?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s best to proceed on the assumption they do. At least that way we can be ready for whatever trap they’ve set.”

He could hear Fando’s teeth chatter, whether out of cold or fear, he couldn’t guess. Both were equally likely. It was _freezing_ down here. This close to the planet’s core, he imagined it would be warmer.

“Stop!”

The choked command made Kane halt and turn, fumbling to raise his rifle.

“What is it?”

Fando’s voice came out in a shaky breath that made Kane’s flesh creep. “I saw something moving over there.”

Kane squinted into the gloom. The darkness remained as lifeless as a corpse. He swallowed. He wanted to tell Fando it was just his imagination, but what use would that be? There were a whole number of whispers around the unseen horrors rumoured to exist down here in the underlevels. For all he knew, they could well be true. After all, if the Jedi with all their mysterious powers could exist, why not mutants or flesh-eating aliens? But getting jittery would only get in the way of their mission. They needed to press on and not allow the pervading, perpetual night play on their minds.

“This way.”

They moved on. In the deathly silence, their footsteps seemed far too loud even though they never broke into more than a brisk jog. Despite his doggedness, Kane could not shake the feeling that a hundred unseen eyes were staring at them. 

_Now, who’s getting jittery? Get a grip and focus!_

They rounded a corner and Kane spotted the entrance to the building right ahead of them. It was cast in an orange puddle of light that was blinding in the oppressive darkness. Regardless, it brought him a sense of relief, as if this were a hidden oasis — a refuge against the onslaught of this army of shadows.

He was about to make for it when Fando’s arm once again found his.

“It’s unguarded,” he muttered. “Why is it unguarded?”

Kane gazed at the light, longing for its warmth.

“Maybe they thought they didn’t need any guards.”

“I don’t like this.” Fando’s garment rustled and Kane imagined he was shaking his head. “We should get out of here.”

“You know we can’t do that. Now, come on!”

Before either of them could take a step, their heads snapped around. Up ahead, something moved.

Kane flattened himself against the wall, rifle cocked. Once again, he peered into the dark, willing his pupils to adjust to the lack of light. But all he could see were vague shapes with large patches of nothing. His ears, on the other hand, picked up a sound — a sort of scuttling of many inhuman feet.

“Kane…”

Fando’s voice had risen and Kane spun round. He only now realised that the other man had let go of him.

“Fando?”

There was no answer.

“Fando!”

He dared not move. All around him, the shadows shifted and began to take on terrifying forms. The sound of scuttling feet grew louder and with it a clicking noise that sounded almost like laughter. He wanted to run but fear paralysed him. The shapes were getting nearer, becoming more defined. Other noises joined the cacophony of clicking and scuttling — the sound of voices murmuring, of deep growls in backs of bestial throats.

Without thinking, he raised the rifle and fired. The blaster shot rang in his ears and the red glow of the bolt as it flew from the barrel briefly illuminated what was in front of him. What he saw made his mouth stretch open in a silent scream.

Faces. Pale faces leered at him from out of the dark, horribly vivid after the brief glow the blaster shot. But they weren’t the faces of terrifying aliens or monsters.

The faces were _Human_.

The noises grew louder, more insistent, undeterred by the weapon which Kane fired again and again. None of the shots found their mark, but they showed that the monstrosities — whatever they were — were closer now, their eyes seeming to glow with pale green fire.

Kane Tillon ran.

He no longer cared that he was abandoning the mission. He no longer cared that he was abandoning his comrade. A primal terror consumed his mind, rendering all else meaningless. He had never known terror like it — not even while he was beaten as a boy for daring to eat scraps of food from his Hutt master’s plate or when he was chucked into the fighting pit and forced to face off a gang of Gamorrean berzerkers. This fear, he knew, was the ultimate kind of fear, the sort many beings experienced at least once in their lifetime, no matter the species, and usually moments before death.

They were coming after him.

He could hear them slithering and scuttling and shuffling through this dark hellscape that they must know so well, hunting him with eyes untouched by daylight, licking lips hungry for the sweet flesh of surface-dwellers. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to surrender in the hopes that, if they must kill him, that they would grant him a quick end. But even he knew that was fool-hardy. Down here, where dreams came to die, there was only the silence.

Silence and the dark.


	2. Delegation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As part of a committee tasked with eradicating the presence of Black Sun on Coruscant, Jedi Knight Jett Jhazar is itching for some action, an itch that is not so easily scratched.

Jett Jhazar hated being the only Cathar in the room. Among the Jedi delegation that he was a part of, three were Human, one a Zabrak and another Twi’lek, not counting the Kel-Dor — Master Tetr Linn — leading the negotiations. The Jedi Council sent them all on this mission from Tython to suppress the Black Sun uprising in the city underlevels. Why they had asked Jett to come along was a mystery. After all, being both Cathar and a combat specialist, diplomacy was hardly one of his strong suits.

Leaning forward in a chair that barely contained his bulk, Jett’s leg began to bounce up and down on the ball of his foot. The windowless meeting room was perfectly climate controlled, just like the rest of Coruscant, but Jett felt warmth rising from his belly and into his chest. Sweat leaked from his palms, and his robes itched, making his dark blue fur bristle. His attire wasn’t what you would call typical garb for a Jedi Knight. With a sleeveless tunic — he absolutely _insisted_ on sleeveless — and knee-high, lightly-armoured boots to match his triangular pauldrons, the overall impression he gave was of a hardened warrior rather than a zen philosopher contemplating the mysteries of the universe. But even this specialised armourweave designed to keep a hot-blooded sentient cool in hot weather and warm in colder climates was chaffing him. He scowled, something he tried not to do especially in a situation like this; he was all too aware of how intimidating non-Cathars found his fierce feline features at the best of times. Still, he could not help himself and it was only after his ear twitched three times in a row that Master Linn turned towards him.

“Peace, young Jett,” the Kel-Dor said, voice muffled behind her breathing apparatus. “The Black Sun representative will be here soon.”

“Last week I was fighting imps on Ord Mantell,” Jett muttered. “Now I’m stuck here trying to make peace with gangsters.” A growl had entered his voice without meaning to. He paused and took a breath. “Apologies, Master. I just don’t understand why I’m needed here.”

Tetr Linn showed no signs of irritation, but then Kel-Dor features were hard to read anyway thanks to their breath masks.

“I understand your frustration,” she remarked. “However, you may consider that even the Jedi know when best to utilise intimidatory tactics.”

Jett frowned. “You mean, I was chosen because I frighten them?”

Master Linn nodded.

“As was I,” she whispered and, if Jett wasn’t mistaken, winked behind her mask. It was then he understood. Like Cathars, Kel-Dors were widely seen as intimidating by other species, particularly Humans who, in Jett’s experience, always favoured beings who looked most like them — Twi’leks, for example, were highly regarded and often for more carnal purposes, especially the females. Then again, Syldron, his Twi’lek counterpart who sat beside him, was quite a sight to behold with deep red skin and an enormous facial scar. Qo’ra, the Zabrak two seats away, had a scowl that could match Jett’s own. Compared to them, the three Humans looked like hairless womp rats dressed in brown robes. Jett wondered if they were aware of this. Probably not. Humans were remarkably oblivious to how much they relied on masks and facial tattoos to inspire fear in their enemies. Whatever world they spawned from, they were far from the apex predators. And yet, they were somehow the most populous species throughout the galaxy. Breeding and expansion, it seemed, was more of an imperative.

“Black Sun respects fear,” Master Linn continued. “The Vigos and their minions use it in abundance — both against their victims and each other. It’s as important a tool to them as a blaster or a vibroblade. But it’s more than that. For many in the cartel, fear is a way of life. They join at a young age, most fleeing a life of poverty on the streets of Nal Hutta or Nar Shaddaa in exchange for shelter and protection. All that’s required from the inductee is to kill, maim, and rob anyone who gets in their way. They quickly learn to obey the will of their Vigo or else they face dire consequences. Knowing that Black Sun respects fear, we have done all we can to play by their rules and better our chances of winning this negotiation.”

“So, we’re going to scare the Black Sun off Coruscant?” Despite himself, a grin grew on Jett’s face which he suppressed quickly. People tended to regard his smile with as much unease as his scowl.

“A blunt way of putting it but, essentially, yes. We need to show them that the Republic has teeth. And, of course, non-verbal cues can be very effective.”

“Let’s just hope this Vigo’s not a Cathar,” Jett grumbled. “Or a Kel-Dor.”

Mister Linn chuckled.

The minutes stretched as they waited for the Black Sun delegation to arrive. Despite all their stony faces, Jett could sense the climbing anticipation like small disturbances in the current of the Force. He didn’t just sense it, either — he could _smell_ it. The Humans, in particular, were perspiring greatly, which always meant they were nervous. Jett wished he couldn’t. His nose was always more sensitive during times like this and Humans always had that salty, hairless smell that made him think of stale meat left out in the sun.

The heat climbed ever higher. It was now in Jett’s cheeks. He drained his water, poured himself another then drained the glass again.

“Thirsty?” Master Linn’s amusement on any other day might have cooled Jett’s mood. Not today, though. Today, it seemed, was going to be one of _those_ days.

“How much longer do we have to wait?”

Jett cast a furious glance over at the Human senator yawning on the other side of the room. He was meant to be their mediator and yet, from the moment he got here, he had done nothing but flick through his datapad with listless zeal. 

“They should be here by now,” Qo’ra the Zabrak said. The skin around her cranial horns taughtened as she scowled, making them look sharper than usual. The decorations she hung from them shone in the light as she turned in her seat.

“They think they can dictate the terms of the meeting by showing up late,” Syldron the Twi’lek added with a wry smile. He scratched the base of his scar with a long nail. “As if calling this meeting with us wasn’t an obvious sign they wanted to show their dominance.”

“Calm yourselves,” Master Linn said, raising a four-digit hand. “They’re here.”

She needn’t have said so; Jett could feel them on the other side of the door, almost swaggering their way to the meeting as if on their way to lunch. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his face. He knew what was happening to him but chose to disregard it. After all, he was a Jedi. He should be able to master such impulses.

_This is really not a good time_ , he kept telling himself as if his body might retract the hormones rampaging through his veins. _Now is_ really _not a good time._

The door opened. Three figures stepped into the room, two Niktos flanking the third who, Jett was unsurprised to see, was Human. Master Linn stirred in her chair as all three of them sat.

“Korr Tenway, I presume?” she asked.

To Jett’s dismay, the Human gave all impressions of being unphased by Master Linn’s Kel-Dor countenance. A smirk spread over his thin face as he lounged in his chair. He could’ve been at a local bar or casino rather than a room in the home of the Galactic Senate of the Republic.

“I’m afraid he’s indisposed.” The man spoke with an Imperial military accent though he was dressed like any Republic diplomat. He put a hand to his chest and inclined his head. “I was sent in his stead. Wen Zizen, at your service.”

Master Linn’s unease was palpable but she did her best to hide it. Jett understood why. If the Black Sun delegation sensed weakness, they would pounce on it. But he also sensed that there was something else that had put his master on edge. Peering into the Force, he quickly discovered what it was. Wen Zizen was Force-sensitive — not nearly as much as they were, but attuned enough to make him more perceptive than the average being. This was going to make things interesting.

“I see.” Master Linn finally composed herself. ‘And you are in full understanding as to why we’re here?”

She cast a glance at the senator who snapped to attention at once. He frantically scrolled through his datapad to the right document.

“You wish to come to an arrangement which would ultimately minimise Black Sun’s presence on Courscant,” Zizen said. “That’s what Tenway said, anyway.”

As he brushed his tunic, Jett felt his hackles raise and his hand strayed towards one of his lightsabers. Something didn’t smell right. Why had Black Sun changed their delegate without informing the Jedi, and why did they only send one representative? In fact, why were they even trying to negotiate with gangsters anyway? Everyone knew Black Sun was nothing but scum.

Master Linn raised a discreetly calming hand and Jett’s grip loosened. He shut his eyes. He _must_ master his impulses. Master Linn was relying on him. He couldn’t let her down. If only there was another Cathar present. They would understand what he was going through.

Getting to her feet, Master Linn assumed her diplomatic pose — legs apart, hands held behind her back — nodding to the senator.

“Very well. We will begin.”

It was tedious going. As Master Linn outlined the terms, Jett could do nothing but sit there and feel his body get hotter and hotter. Soon enough, he’d drunk all his water but his thirst was neverending, making his tongue feel rough and dry, and the sweat between his fingers and toes flow more freely. He wanted nothing more than to get out of that room. At the same time, he wanted to rip the heads of both the Nikto guards from their bodies and tear out Zizen’s throat. At least then things would end quicker.

There were also… other things. Things that were much harder to ignore. Things no Jedi should ever feel.

“All Cathars go through it,” the physician had told him on his last medical exam. “Even Jedi Cathar. I suggest you take more time to meditate and practise controlling your urges.”

But mediation, even hours of it, never seemed to work. His senses never dulled. His urges grew ever hotter.

_Rakktarr._

Once a month, every month, it consumed him. For six days, he would be in an agitated frenzy as his body waged war with his mind. Sometimes, it would last longer than that and could even stretch to a fortnight — half a standard month given over to this disease. Not even stims seemed to help. He had tried every suppressant he could get his hands on. None had worked. Perhaps this was because there was no real need for them. Perhaps he was just bad at dealing with it.

_Every Cathar goes through this_ , he always told himself. _So why are you so bad at handling it? Why are you so weak?_

From what he’d noticed of the few other Cathar he knew, they never complained or spoke of their _rakktarr_ , not even in passing. It was taboo, for certain, especially among Jedi, but surely he would have noticed if one of them mentioned how much they suffered every month. They didn’t even use the common euphemisms such as “when it was high noon” or “I had an itch I couldn’t scratch”. Had they reached such a level of mastery that they barely noticed when their _rakktarr_ anymore?

Or was something wrong with _him_?

He had tried confiding in the only Cathar Jedi master at the Jedi Temple on Tython — Master Renfurr. He spoke of the maddening, endless hours of enduring his impulses, how he could barely go down a corridor without having to smell the intoxicating pheromones reeking off every other student, how he had almost destroyed training droids beyond repair because of the red haze that had fallen over his vision, how he had to go all the way up Tythos ridge, rip off his tunic and tear his way through the bramble, and sometimes into the stomach of a Uxobeast, just to satisfy his rampaging bloodlust. 

And what did the old cat have to say?

“Master your urges, Jett. We are a hot-blooded species, but that does not mean you should not seek serenity. _There is no passion, there is only peace_.”

Exactly what his physician had said. In other words, no help at all.

If only he could practice some melee. Better yet, he wished he could go into actual combat. Ripping the heads of Imps sounded far more inviting than sitting here. But why even go that far?

_Let me loose in the underlevels_ , he thought. _Let me give Black Sun something to be truly afraid of. Maybe then they’ll stay off Coruscant._

“The fact remains,” Wen Zizen was saying now, “that I fail to understand why you are attempting to chase Black Sun off Coruscant in the first place.” The unreadable smile which had endured throughout the meeting thus far broadened. “Because, unless I am very much mistaken, Republic law does not forbid any being, enterprise or organisation for simply existing on the surface of a planet. And, as Coruscant’s crust is denser than most worlds, many beings, enterprises and organisations have sprouted up in the city underlevels. Yet, funnily enough, I do not see their representatives in this room.” He leaned back in his chair, putting both hands behind his head in an elaborate display of relaxation. “Indeed, if this is a matter of law, why are we not speaking to Republic law enforcement or the military? Why has the senate deemed it necessary to send Jedi?”

The eddies in the Force were whipping up into a frenzy. Qo’ra glanced at Syldron whose brow furrowed ever so slightly with doubt.

“Who the Republic chooses to deal in its affairs,” Master Linn said, “is not what we’re discussing.”

Zizen laughed.

“Oh, but this is too rich! The Republic sends Jedi to frighten us off Coruscant or, better yet, out of the Core entirely and back into the Outer Rim. I suppose that would be far enough away from here to be somebody else’s concern.”

Jett felt a growl rise up his throat. He stifled it in time but he knew he had to get out of this meeting soon, or else the golden walls might turn red.

“But we don’t even need to go that far, do we?” Zizen went on. “Why, we don’t even need to leave Coruscant to find trillions upon trillions of beings who live in squalor. Have you ever visited the underlevels, Master Linn? They say on level 1313, corpses litter the streets and younglings suffer horrific mutations. But even on the higher levels, many beings live their entire lives without seeing the light of day.”

Master Linn yet again raised a hand.

“Please do not pretend to care about the suffering of innocents,” she said, cooly, “when you and I both know that Black Sun exploits the very beings of which you speak. Indeed, if any of our intel is correct, which I can assure you it is, your organisation contributes a large portion of that suffering. It is that contribution which violates the very principles of this Republic, not just your mere presence on this world, although, I must say, your presence does somewhat spoil the nice view.”

Zizen blinked at her cutting remark, his posture becoming markedly less relaxed. He wasn’t the only one. The senator nearly choked on his caff at her words, and Qo’ra’s scowl turned into wide-eyed astonishment. Even Jett momentarily forgot his current dilemma to marvel at the Kel-Dor’s sheer boldness to speak to a member of Black Sun in such a way, all while maintaining the calm of still water.

“To make matters worse,” Mater Linn went on, pressing her advantage, “we have also received intelligence that Back Sun is in the possession of weapons manufactured in the Sith Empire. We also have reason to believe you have received funding from secret accounts linked not only to the Hutt Cartel but also with banks on Dromund Kaas. Do you care to address this?”

She brought up her datapad and showed him the display. Wen Zizen’s lazy smile vanished.

“I don’t—”

"As this intelligence doubtless suggests — which I remind you again, is very accurate — you have not only been terrorising Republic citizens but have willingly and in full knowledge bought and used weapons from our enemy against those citizens, no doubt to help stoke the fires of your death stick trade.”

Zizen could only sate as Master Linn scrolled through her datapad to bring up another report. His alarm rippled through the Force.

“As for the credits,” Master Linn said. “I believe it was over two million, wasn’t it? No doubt going straight into you and your Vigos’ already considerable pockets.”

Now Zizen was scowling.

“Lies,” he snarled. “Those reports are fake. Your Republic has been against men like me trying to make an honest living since before the war. You look down on us from your high glossy towers and spit on us.”

“So, you deny that Black Sun is in cohorts with the Empire?”

“I do.”

Master Linn sighed. “That is unfortunate. You see, I’ve just received word here on my pad that members of the Coruscant Citizien’s Authority have successfully seized a Black Sun warehouse full of Imperial weapons on level 2243. All ownership of the property is listed under _Harjak Holdings_. As I speak, more of the CCA and Republic military is moving in on ten other warehouses spread across the planet, all under different names but carrying Imperial weapons the likes of which have only been used by Imperial Agents and have somehow found their way to Coruscant.”

Zizen’s skin went pale. Even his Nikto guards glanced at each other, unnerved.

“You—” Zizen struggled to speak. “How _dare_ you!”

“So you admit those warehouses belonged to you, Zizen?” He did not respond to Master Linn’s question but he didn’t have to. With a nod, she gestured to the mediator who pressed a button on a nearby panel. The door opened again, this time revealing heavily armoured Republic troopers.

“You will remain in our custody until we have collated all the evidence,” Tetr Linn said. “I suspect it will make a strong case against you during your trial.”

The Republic troopers took Zizen and his Nikto guards by the arm and led them away. The whole time, Zizen’s eyes were fixed on Master Linn. Only as the troopers manhandled him out of the room, his look of outrage dissolved into one of triumph. It was fleeting but Jett caught it just as the door slid closed.

Master Linn breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well,” she said to them all, “that went far better than expected.”

Taking his chance, Jett got to his feet.

“Forgive me, Master.” His voice was scratchy in his throat. “But I need some air.”

He didn’t wait for a response before he darted out of the meeting room in search of the nearest exit.


	3. Rainfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to cool himself off, Jett steps out into the rain only to meet a rather handsome Human spy named Theron Shan. The two hit it off right away, but maybe there’s more to their exchange than meets the eye.

With the grand entrance from Senate Plaza several stories below him, it was too far for Jett to get that much-needed fresh air. Luckily, a balcony stood nearby the room he had just left. It was raining outside — great lashes of it whipping the transparasteel. He threw the doors open and stepped out regardless. The rain soaked his tunic within seconds and his fur became sodden. But he didn’t care.

Closing his eyes, he raised his face towards the Coruscanti sky. Raindrops splashed against his whiskers and soaked into his beard. The heat within his veins began to cool and he sighed. On Cathar, there was never enough rainfall, but when it did rain, it came all at once — great floods of it falling on the city trees and across the savannahs like a gift from the universe. He was almost tempted to catch the raindrops with his tongue, just like he did when he was a cub, but with the endless lanes of sky traffic above his head, how would he look if someone spotted him?

In the distance, a rumble of thunder resounded over the Works, a fork of lightning illuminating a sky tower, low enough to see but not low enough to endanger starships coming to land at the spaceport or any air speeders that had climbed a little too high into the atmosphere. On Cathar, a stray bolt could set fire to an entire city tree and there would be little anyone could do but let the ensuing fire burn itself out. Random acts of nature could be cruel, but it made you wary. It helped you stay strong. Here, on Coruscant, with its perfectly controlled thunderstorms and sleek interstellar yachts, Jett wondered if Zizen didn’t have a point. Could Courscanti be too used to this? He was sure any Cathar who spent a long time here would get prickly all the while they could not obey their baser instincts. Or would they? Would they grow fat and lazy as every one of their comforts was taken care of while the legacy of the jungle became a distant memory?

 _If only I could make myself forget. But this is my burden. My curse. My inheritance from the Dark._

“You’ll drown.”

Jett wheeled around. A Human male stood at the balcony entrance, just short of the threshold as if afraid of getting his red jacket wet. He beckoned with a gloved hand for Jett to come back inside.

“Either that or you’ll catch a stray thunderbolt.”

Reluctant, but feeling rather foolish as he realised what a sight he must have looked with his fur pressed flat to his body, Jett obeyed and the stranger closed the doors behind them, shaking raindrops off the sleeve of his scarlet jacket. This was rather pointless, however, as he got sprayed with a thousand more as Jett shook himself off.

“Hey, watch it!”

Embarrassed, Jett mumbled, “Apologies,” as he rubbed more water out of his mohawk. Now the rain had woken him up a bit, he was much more conscious of what he’d just done. Had he really just shaken himself off like a nexu at a Balmorran water basin? What was the matter with him? Next, he would be getting undressed and walking through the Senate Tower in nothing but the fur he was born with!

Disgruntled, the Human wiped more water from his face. As much that had come off him, it hadn’t washed away the Human’s scent which, to Jett’s surprised, was a lot cleaner than others of his species, less like dried meat in the sun and more like muja fruit in a summer rain. It brought back early memories of his cubhood when he would eat them by the crate. Sweet, sharp and juicy.

The Human, noticing Jett was staring at him, frowned and he turned his gaze away. He was about to head back up the corridor, sorry to leave that attractive aroma behind, when the Human said, “You’re with Tetr Linn, right?” At Jett’s nod, he added, “I’ve met her. She’s a fine Jedi. Just like Master Gnost Dural. Do you know him?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Well, uh… He’s a fine Jedi too. You find that with Kel-Dors.”

Jett was startled to see that the Human’s cheeks had turned pink, making his nut-brown skin far more prominent. He always forgot what it meant when Humans did that. Something to do with hesitation or awkwardness.

He held out a hand.

“Theron Shan, SIS.”

Jett took Shan’s nimble appendage in his enormous one. 

“Jett Jhazar. Jedi Knight.”

“I gathered. You’re, uh… You’re a big fella, aren’t you?”

Whatever cooling effect the rain had was now starting to wear off. Jett could feel his heat returning. He shrugged his broad shoulders, unsure of what to say.

“It’s just— Cathar’s, you know. They’re not normally so… Well-built.”

“Um. Thank you.”

Shan’s cheeks turned redder and he suddenly seemed unable to look at Jett. He scratched the area beside his left eye — at least, that’s what Jett thought he was doing, but he was actually pressing a button on the cybernetic implant embedded there. Jett had been so taken in by the Human’s enticing scent he hadn’t noticed it.

“Wait,” he said, realising something. “Did you say your name was Theron _Shan_?”

Shan looked up at him, his demeanour cooling at once.

“I did.”

“You don’t happen to be—?”

“Related to Satele Shan, Grandmaster of the Jedi Order?” The tone of the question suggested he’d been asked this many times and was bored of answering. “Yes. I am.”

“Oh.”

Jett wanted to ask in what way he and Satele were related but felt doing so would irritate Shan further. He couldn’t understand why. On Cather, being related to a Jedi was considered a high honour, which was why many claimed to be descended from Sylvar, even though it was common knowledge she had died childless. Theron Shan, on the other hand, looked as if he might reach for one of the blasters at his hips if Jett said another word about it. Humans were so strange sometimes.

“What were you doing on the balcony?”

Now it was Jett’s turn to become flustered.

“I, erm… I needed some air.”

“Really?” Shan snorted. “Trust me, I know how stuffy those committee rooms can get. Even I would stand out in a thunderstorm just to cool my temper.” He gestured with a thumb. “As a matter of fact, I was on my way to one right now. I’ll be sure to join you on the balcony if I feel a little warm around the ears.” With a salute and a wink, he sauntered away. “See you around.”

Jett watched him go, mesmerised by the casual ease of the man’s walk. His hips moved in perfect synchrony with his shoulders, buried as they were under those square shoulder pads. He was confident yet guarded. Perhaps a little too guarded.

_Of course he is, Jett! He’s SIS. Their secrets have secrets. Stars above, he probably has a top-secret hair regimen with a faux hawk like that. His exercise routine certainly so, given his slender build. Why am I staring at him so much?_

Turning, he tried to put Theron Shan out of his mind. But the _rakktarr_ wouldn’t let him. He kept imagining the Human in all manner of comprising positions. Raindrops falling off that perfect square chin. Running down the canyon of his abdominal muscles. He shook himself, then stepped aside to let a pair of Rodian senators pass.

Was he seriously attracted to this Human?

No. It had to be the _rakktarr._ His condition must have deteriorated so rapidly he was now fantasising about members of other species. Then again, this would not be the first time he fantasised about a Human. Back on Tython, he had run into one of the masters in the communal shower wearing only a towel around his waist. Jett had never seen a naked Human body. It was so… _pink_. And yet he had to forcibly remove himself from the showers as soon as the master began to wash, letting the soapsuds trickle down the well-defined muscles of his shoulders, his back, then his legs. The image was burned into his brain for months afterwards and he often fell asleep wondering what it would feel like to touch those soapy, hairless legs. Probably like touching the Force itself.

As for fellow Cathar…. He’d been too young to have such thoughts when he left his homeworld to join the Jedi, and there weren’t enough of them around on Tython to stir his loins. The two females he knew were fierce, even beautiful, but he never felt anything more than in their presence than strong comradery and primal belonging. Neither of them, he knew, could be his mate and he was certain they felt the same way about him. He never felt like he was feeling now.

Was it possible to have a male mate? Or, to be more precise, a male mate from another species?

He pondered this for all of a minute before shaking his head. He was a Jedi. He had his duties. Male or female, Cathar of Human, the Order forbade attachment of any sort, particularly toward loved ones. When one considered that, it was a wonder how so many Cathar ended up becoming Jedi. How they must have had to temper themselves. How they must have had to keep the jungle at bay.

The floor buckled beneath Jett’s feet. He stumbled against the wall, almost knocking over a holo-bust of a Togruta senator. The lights flickered as, in the distance, an enormous boom sounded. For a moment, Jett thought it was another thunder strike. Then the screaming began and with it, riding towards him through the Force, the terror, confusion, and despair.

Lightsaber hilt in hand, he rushed back the way he came, passing both the Rodians who had been knocked to the floor. Seconds later, he caught up with Theron Shan whose blaster was in hand.

“What the hell was that?”

Another boom. A second rumble. The floor bucked again. More screaming. Theron cursed and Jett caught him just before he hit the floor.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Theron grumbled. He paused face reddening again. “You can uh… You can put me down now.”

“Oh,” Jett said. “Sorry.”

Reluctantly, he put Theron down again, already wishing he hadn’t. He had been so wonderfully light in Jett’s hands. Warm, too — surprisingly so! The muja fruit smell filled his nostrils again, stronger at such close range, and so delicious he could almost taste it.

But there was no time to think.

They dashed towards the main atrium where the sounds of screaming grew louder.

“Sounded like an explosion.” Theron cursed again. “Dammit! How could this have happened? And here! In the Senate Tower. How did they even get in?”

The same question raced through Jett’s own mind. Could it be the Empire? Had they decided to sack the Repulic capital a second time? A glance out the window told him otherwise. There were no Sith vessels in the sky, no dreadnaughts or starfighters. Terrorists, then. But the Senate Tower was the most guarded place on Coruscant, if not the whole Galaxy! Who could’ve wrought such havoc in such a secure area? And how?

He knew he should have been worried. His primary concern should be the senators and any Republic citizens that had got caught in the blast. But all he could think about as he dashed alongside Theron Shan, a grin spreading across his lips, was, _Finally! It’s time to hunt._


	4. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explosion has created untold carnage within the halls of the Senate. Jett and Theron jump to action, pursuing the unknown enemy out into the rain, only for them to make a startling discovery.

Devastation had lain waste to the atrium. Arriving at the balustrade on the upper floor, the first thing that hit them was the smoke. It was everywhere — a dense black fog that crawled down Jett’s throat, making him cough and his eyes water. He could barely see Theron standing beside him, though he could tell that he too had covered his mouth to stop the airborne debris from entering it.

The smokescreen muffled the sounds of screaming and blaster fire, making it difficult to pinpoint where exactly the chaos was occurring. But Jett knew it must be directly below them; he could sense the distressed beings through the Force as well as the hostile intent of their aggressors, whose auras shone with triumph and purpose.

Reaching the handrail, they peered over the edge. Flashes of blue and red illuminated the wrecked lower hall as senate guards and Republic troops opened fire on a large crowd of dark figures who were firing back. A snap-hiss sounded and a green glow of a lightsabre reached their eyes. Jett felt Master Linn’s Force signature wash over him and with it, an intense relief. At least she was all right. He could also feel Qo’ra and Syldron down there somewhere, but he couldn’t see them. In any case, it was hard to focus on anything; his mind was reeling from the site of this battlezone within the walls of the Galactic Senate. How could this have happened?

Whoever was responsible, Jett was ready to meet them head-on.

Unsheathing both his lightsabers, he brushed Theron’s arm.

“I have to go down there.”

Theron tapped the side of his head, activating a function within his implant. He nodded, raising his blaster.

“I’ll cover you.”

Jett leapt from the balcony. He landed with a roll onto the hard marble floor, cushioning himself with the Force. As he straightened up, he came face-to-face with one of the enemy. The dark-clad figure raised a blaster rifle to his eyes but before he could pull the trigger, Jett propelled him across the hall using the Force. The figure landed on the remains of a pillar and crashed out of sight. More figures clad in similar clothing with red-lensed goggles turned to face him, alarm radiating from them as they spotted the Jedi that had appeared in their midst. Not all had blasters — some produced vibroswords and daggers while another drew out an electrostaff. Jett activated his lightsabres, called on the Force to assist him, and crouched into his battle stance, unable to conceal his smile. He was going to enjoy this.

Two of them came at him. He easily dodged their swinging blades with a side-flip while cutting both beings across their torsos. Two others fired, the bolts effortlessly bouncing off the spinning blades. The fourth decided to compromise, attacking with a blaster and a short sword, but was stopped short as Jett swiftly decapitated him. He then sent both his lightsabres spinning towards the remaining aggressors. They arced in two graceful spirals as they cut four of them down at once.

But the move nearly cost Jett his life.

As he was calling the hilts back, he hadn’t noticed the mercenary sneaking up behind him with a hand pistol aimed at his spine. He only became aware of him when his would-be murderer jerked to one side with a smoking hole in the side of his helmet. Jett looked up to see Theron aiming his blaster over the railing. The agent winked, then trained his blaster elsewhere and fired again.

Despite this near-miss, adrenaline coursed through Jett who continued to slice through the unknown assailants. Every detonator explosion was like the beating of a heavy drum, every blaster shot a peal of a bell. The battle was music and he danced to it.

Gradually, the smoke began to clear and the scene became more visible. Bodies littered the floor — some senators, many soldiers, but the majority were the enemy who at last began to pull back.

“Jett!”

Blasting an enemy aside with a Force push, Master Linn ran towards him, followed by Qo’ra. Thankfully, the Kel-Dor wasn’t injured though the Zabrak was sporting a bloody lip and blaster shot on one arm.

“Master Linn.”

“They’re retreating,” she said. “They’re headed for Senate Plaza.”

“I’m on it.”

He ran for the exit. Behind him, he heard Master Linn calling something but he did not hear her. All that mattered was that he caught up with this fleeing terrorist scum, pinned them down and skewer them with his lightsabres.

With agility afforded to him by the Force and by his Cathar heritage, Jett raced through the halls, passing senators, guardsman and troopers alike who flattened themselves against the wall to let him pass. It wouldn’t have mattered if they hadn’t; he would’ve torn through them anyway. He was flying through the Senate, his legs carrying him with the same grace and power as they had when he raced across the plains of Cathar as a cub. He even thought about clipping his lightsabres to his belt and getting on all fours. But that would end the chase too soon. He wanted this one to last, to follow the scent until it led him to his target. His prey.

Bursting onto Senate Plaza, he saw three of the enemy running towards the spaceport. In the distance, swoop bike engines squawked as their fellows fled into the storm. A rumble of thunder echoed as Jett made chase towards the remaining figures who quickly became aware he was gaining on them. Up above, a Republic gunship roared, its headlights cutting through the rain. It matched the roaring in Jett’s head.

Onlookers shrank back as the mercenaries, whoever they were, fled through a large crowd to lose him. He wanted to laugh. No crowd was going to get in his way. He was a Jedi! More than that, he was Cathar. Hunting was in his blood. Whatever feeble attempts they made would never stop him from pursuing them. He would chase them from here to the Unknown Regions if that was what it took to catch them.

Another flash of lightning seared across the sky. Thunder crashed in the air as loud and bone-quivering as the explosions in the Senate Tower. Jett’s smile vanished as he came to a halt, boots splashing over the puddles on the slick duracrete.

The mercenaries had vanished.

The crowd had fallen back, showing a clear space before him. Aside from one or two frightened citizens crouching in fear as local security force personnel attempted to bring order to the chaos, there was nobody in sight. On either side of the walkway, two sky towers loomed with no access points. Unless they had climbed onto a secret speeder and taken off without Jett noticing, then there was nowhere else they could have gone.

Jett sniffed, opening his senses up to his surroundings. The odours of many beings clung to him as well as that of smoke, making it impossible to distinguish one from the other. It was as though he’d been doused in the liquid from a garbage disposal freighter. How was he supposed to find the fugitives if he couldn’t single out their scent? He allowed the Force to flow through him, trying to narrow down three signatures out of hundreds. But it was just as useless as trying to smell them out.

He let out a growl of frustration. He was about to turn back when something caught his eye up ahead. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light caused by the curtain of rain. Then he saw it again and there was no mistaking it. It was a distortion of the air as if something invisible had moved through it. Focusing his energy, Jett zeroed in on the strange effect.

There. He had them.

He ran towards it. The terrorists, now realising their cloaking devices were no good, reappeared and continued their flight towards the spaceport. They had to pass through the air taxi station before they reached it and that was where Jett suspected they would make their getaway.

He put on a burst of speed, entering the air taxi station seconds after his quarry. Unlike the walkway, the station was far from deserted. Confused beings quickly turned to fear as the mercenaries produced blasters and fired into the air, causing everyone around them to run around in panic. Jett was not going to let that trick work a second time. He pushed forward, jumping over a rail and past a set of stairs. Behind him, a score of Republic troops had entered the station, but they were barely needed; Jett was closing in on the kill.

They were heading for a taxi that had just pulled in. Training their rifles on the passengers and driver, they chivvied them out of the vehicle. Reaching out to the Force, Jett yanked the closest mercenary out of the speeder just as his foot climbed over its side. He flew a few feet forward and landed on the platform with a hard smark. His comrades didn’t pause to help him up. They jerked on the steering yoke and drove the speeder out of the station. As expected. Scum like that wouldn’t think twice about shooting their own mothers for a few extra credits. They wouldn’t get far anyway; even as they flew, a Republic gunship zoomed after them in pursuit.

Jett bore down on the dazed figure he’d managed to apprehend. Peering up at him, the mercenary shook visibly.

“Back off, Jedi!”

Jett’s mouth twitched. He reached down towards the merc, but a foot hit him squarely in the face. Howling, tasting blood, Jett reeled backwards, clutching his chin. The coppery scent on his tongue made the primal urges spike. A familiar hissing sound reached his stunned ears and he glanced up to see the merc was on his feet, red plasma extending from his fist in a shimmering crimson blade of energy.

A lightsabre?

Wiping his mouth, Jett stood to his full height as the Republic troops surrounded the two of them, guns trained on the black-clad figure.

“Surrender!”

Theron Shan had arrived, both his blasters trained on the merc. His red jacket was torn and his face was caked in soot. Despite everything, Jett was glad to see he wasn’t badly hurt. Even so, he was irritated that the SIS agent was taking command of the situation when he had everything under control. He held up a hand.

“Stand down, agent. Troopers…”

Shan glanced at him. “Master Jedi, we have him cornered. We should—”

“He’ll kill you all before you get a chance to fire. I’ll handle this. Stand down.”

Reluctantly, Theron lowered his blasters, as did the troopers. Jett moved forward, igniting his own lightsabres and assuming the Jar’Kai ready stance.

“So, tell me, Sith,” he said as the two of them began to circle each other. “What brings you to Coruscant?”

The red-goggled figured hissed slightly. He curled his fingers tight around the lightsabre at his side then moved into a stance Jett did not recognise.

“I am no Sith, Jedi. But I will end you, all the same.”

Jett probed his adversary with the Force. Now he studied him more carefully, he could sense power radiating from his opponent, power tainted by the Dark Side. Only, it was jagged unrefined. Jett had faced only one true Sith before now and he remembered how the Force exuded from her like a cold star. But this Sith — if he indeed was a Sith — was tepid. Raw and wild, yes, but nothing close to the power of a fully trained Sith Lord. Jett smiled.

_I shall make quick work of this one._

He leapt forward, striking down with both blades. The merc blocked them with shocking ease and side-stepped Jett’s second swing. Jett came at him again but experienced almost the same result — block, side-step, block, block, side-step, block. Sith or no, his opponent was smart enough to realise he lacked the strength to stave off Jett’s attacks. For the time being, at least, he was utilising a bastardised form of Ataru mixed with components of Suresu. If this was a merc who happened to find — or steal — a lightsabre, Jett knew his combat style would be undisciplined and the fight would be over already. But the fact he had the Force and was able to go toe-to-toe with a Jedi made it apparent that he had had at least some form of training. Perhaps he was a former Sith acolyte who had escaped from the Empire and decided to make a living in the Coruscanti underworld. Were his comrades equally as Force-sensitive? And who were they?

The quicker he defeated this unknown duelist, the sooner he could find out. Except he was proving to be a frustrating foe. Twice, he outsmarted Jett and nearly made him topple over as he leapt over him, out of reach of his lightsabres. Frustration was starting to make Jett’s movements sloppy but also more powerful. Perhaps he should make use of that. No, too risky. Negative emotions were ill-advised for a Jedi. Then again, didn’t the scum deserve it? Had he not attacked the very heart of the Republic, endangering its senators and its citizens?

“What’s the matter, alien freak?” the faux-Sith taunted. “Can’t win a fight unless you have two sabres?”

Jett’s hackles raised. Minutes had passed and his opponent seemed barely out of breath. He had to dispatch him quickly, or else reinforcements would show up. A couple more clashes and _still_ the merc wouldn’t back down.

“Guess that answers my question,” the merc jeered. “You use both to compensate for your obvious lack of skill. Why don’t you face me like a real Jedi?”

Jett deactivated his weapons then tossed them onto the ground.

“Oh,” he said, with a deep, mirthless chuckle. “I don’t even need one lightsabre to beat you.”

With a roar, he dived towards his opponent who raised his blade forward, trying to impale him. But a slashing claw disarmed the merc easily and a second grabbed him by the throat. The man choked beneath his mask as he was confronted by the full ferocity of Jett’s snarling gaze.

“Who are you working for?”

He reached up and peeled off the mask. Beneath it was the pale, scared faxe of a young male Human.

“P-please!” he choked. “Let me go!”

“That’s enough,” Theron called. “He’s beaten.”

Jett ignored him. “Tell me why you blew up the Senate.” He shook the man so violently that he flopped around like a flag in the wind. The Human’s face was steadily turning purple.

“I— I can’t—”

Hackles rising further up his teeth, Jett tightened his hold around the man’s neck. How small it seemed in his hand. How fragile.

“ _Jett!_ ” Theron tried once again. “Let him go.”

Behind him, Jett heard the cocking of blasters.

“Tell me who hired you.”

“All right men,” the commanding officer said. “Stun bolts only. I want you to—”

“Wait,” one of them said. “Will it even work? I mean, he’s pretty big. And he’s a Jedi. Didn’t you see how easily he took that guy, down?”

The troopers began to squabble amongst themselves.

“Jett,” Theron said again. “Please.”

His voice, soft and soothing, finally reached Jett. He blinked, realising for the first time since his chase across Senate Plaza that he had an unarmed Human by the throat, his claws digging into the man’s flesh. Blood gushed out from the tiny holes he had made in his skin as he struggled feebly.

Jett let go. The man collapsed onto the duracrete, coughing and spluttering. All at once, the troopers rushed forward, cuffed him and led him towards the gunship waiting just outside the taxi station.

All at once, Jett was aware of the rainwater once again running off his fur, dripping onto the platform beneath his boots. He became aware of the soot streaked across his tunic. He became aware of the cold Coruscanti wind blowing through the open platform and the urban canyon that stretched out beneath him. He became aware of the crowd.

As he turned, he caught glimpses of many different species — from Twi’leks to Bothans to Mirialans — all looking in his direction. Different as they were, all had one thing in common. They were all staring at Jett with absolute terror in their eyes as if he might leap into the crowd and start tearing into them.


	5. Aftershock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the attack, Jett reflects on his encounter with the mercenary he fought and his possible origins. Meanwhile, his rakktarr seems to be getting stronger and he is desperate for a solution.

Together with the security personnel, the Republic Military filed everyone out of the station, cordoning it off so no member of the public could enter it. Incoming taxis were waved away and told to head to their next stop.

Jett remained where he was, sitting on the open platform, his legs dangling over the precipice. Rain fell past him to land somewhere far below on the city’s artificial surface. There was less of it now and the sky brightened as the sun began to peep through the clouds. He barely noticed. All he could do was sit and wonder endlessly what might have happened if Theron Shan had not been there to stop him from committing a terrible crime. He had come so close to killing an unarmed and defeated opponent. Worse than that, he had wanted to rip him apart and feast on his carcass — not because he had attacked the Senate, but simply for the thrill of it.

Was this the Dark Side? Had he let his _rakktarr_ run so rampant that he had fallen without knowing it?

“See anything interesting?”

Theron was standing next to him. Jett had been so preoccupied he hadn’t heard him approach. The SIS agent had a grim smile on his face as he too sat, legs waving over the edge of the platform.

“Kind of beautiful, isn’t it? This city. I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on it.”

Twilight dazzled over the heads of the sky towers, silhouetting them against its orange glow. Seen through gaps in the rain clouds, it cast a startling but pleasing effect over Galactic City. Jett almost smiled.

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”

He turned to Theron whose own face was cast in that orange glow. Jett found it far more appealing than the skyline.

“Thanks.”

Theron raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For stopping me.”

“Oh. Well… You’re not the first Jedi I’ve seen get carried away. All that preaching about repressing your emotions can’t be good for anyone.” He reached up and placed a reassuring hand on Jett’s back. It was warm, despite his glove, and Jett found he liked the feel of it there. “I should know. I went through some of it myself, way back when. That was before they found out I lacked your special talent for the Force.”

Jett closed his eyes, letting the wind finger his whiskers.

“Sometimes,” he said with a sigh, “I wonder if I should have become a Jedi at all. Today has shown me that I’m right.” 

Theron retracted his hand, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Jett sighed again. “It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand. You’re not— You’re not like me.”

“Well, I’m certainly not as big as you, that’s for sure.”

“No, I mean— You’re not Cathar. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I imagine it must be irritating, trying to get all the loose fur out of the rug.” At an annoyed look from Jett, he said, “Kidding, kidding! Look, I’ll admit, I don’t know very much about your species and I won’t pretend to understand what it is you seem to go through. But, whatever it is, I know you can overcome it.”

“You barely know me.”

“No. But I have a good judge of character. It’s gotten me out of a lot of trouble, let me tell you.”

“Are you sure you’re not Force-sensitive?”

Theron laughed. “Honestly? No, I’m not. But I know I can’t levitate things so that pretty much excludes me from the Jedi at any rate.”

“It’s not all about levitating things.”

“Then what is it about? Learning how to swing a lightsabre without chopping your tail off?”

“Cathar don’t have tails.”

“Aww, damn. And here I was hoping you’d show it to me.” Theron backed up suddenly and cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m sorry. I, erm… That was—” Rubbing the back of his head, he stood up again. “Come on. The Senate will need to be debriefed.”

Jett hesitated before getting to his feet.

“Promise me you won’t tell Master Linn what happened.”

Theron looked uneasy. “I can’t—”

“Please.” Without knowing it, Jett had taken hold of him. Theron’s cheeks had gone pinkish again as his eyes darted from Jett’s face to their hands linked together.

“All right,” he said. “I won’t say a word. But I can’t make any promises that the troopers won’t.”

Jett nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

He followed Theron back onto Senate Plaza and boarded a small shuttle that took them the short distance towards the rotunda, the side of which still bled smoke into the sky.

“This was, without a doubt, a coordinated attack,” Master Tetr Linn said. “After convening with top members of the Coruscanti Security Force, as well as those in the Senate Guard, we have managed to determine how such an attack was allowed to occur. It is with deep regret that I must inform you all that it appears to have been an inside job. That is, members of both the Republic Military and the Senate Guard had a role in allowing these terrorists to cause such devastation.”

The Kel-Dor master paused, allowing her words to sink into the committee gathered before her. She along with her retinue of Jedi — Jett, Syldron and Qo’ra included — stood with their hands clasped rigidly behind their backs. Jett was glad that Qo’ra had emerged mostly unscathed but Syldron had been less fortunate. He had lost part of his right hand in the explosion and was now sporting prosthetic fingers.

“Least I can still wield my lightsabre,” the Twi’lek muttered with a wry smile to Jett before this impromptu meeting had begun.

“A noble Jedi would learn to fight one-handed,” Qo’ra teased but a look from Master Linn wiped both hers and Syldron’s amused faces clean.

Now both were stony as they stared down the beings who gazed at them in silence. Beside him, Jett felt Theron fold his arms as he too showed the seriousness of the situation. Jett himself did the best to keep his own face blank but his squirming guts made that exceedingly difficult. Though Theron had said he would not breathe a word of what happened at the air taxi station, nor had he been met with any kind of reprimand from Master Linn, Jett could not help but worry over what might befall him should anyone find out. This was unbecoming, he knew. No Jedi should ever be thinking so inwardly, especially at a time like this. Yet still, he worried, and no amount of meditation or reciting the Jedi code was going to help.

“I need not tell you, my dear senators,” Master Linn went on, “that this is a grim day for our beloved Republic. To be struck at the very heart of our government, killing and injuring so many and without warning has come as an awful shock to us all. It has also illuminated how deep this corruption goes.”

This was met with a lot of muttering. Many of the senators scowled at her and Jett was confused as to why until he realised they thought she was accusing them of colluding with this band of terrorists. Regardless, they did not object as she continued her report.

“No known anti-Republic organisations have so far claimed responsibility for the attack,” she said. “Even the Empire has remained stubbornly silent on the matter. However, we are doing our best to—”

“Oh, come now, Master Jedi!” A Human senator got to his feet — a short man with a black goatee who Jett recognised as the senator from Ord Mantell. “Isn’t it obvious that the Empire _are_ behind this attack? I think we can all agree that it was a well-organised and, dare I say, almost military assault. Who else would have the resources to carry it out?”

More muttering erupted, many voices agreeing with the Mantellian senator.

“We can neither confirm nor deny the Empire was involved,” Master Linn responded with her enviable calm. “Indeed, you are correct that this attack was well organised, but our captives have all but refuted that they have any Imperial connections.”

“Well, clearly, they’re lying!” Another Human senator, this one female, had joined in, tossing her blond hair out of her face as she stood up. This time, the mutters were louder and more mutinous. “Why would they confess to working for the Empire?”

“Besides,” the Mantellian senator added. “I heard that Jedi there…” He pointed at Jett. “I heard he fought a Sith at the taxi station close to the plaza.”

Jett’s stomach tightened as the committee’s collective voice increased in volume. Soon, it grew into shouts of “We want answers!” and “We deserve justice!” The mediating senator had to make excessive use of his gavel to bring order. As the quiet resumed, Jett once again struggled to maintain his composure. How the Mantellian senator had heard of his fight with the lightsabre-wielding mercenary was anyone’s guess. He must’ve heard it from one of the troops. Either way, it didn’t matter. The accusation was out in the open and Jett fully expected a grilling from the Jedi Council once he arrived back on Tython.

“From the evidence that we have collected,” Master Linn said, “we have ascertained that the party involved is completely separate from the Empire, though they may share some of its ideology.”

“What do you mean?” the Twi’lek senator from Ryloth asked, her yellow skin becoming turning beige with dread.

“I mean, that this group appears to be pro-Human. Pro-Human to a rather… extreme extent.”

It was interesting to observe the Human senators’ reaction to this. Many of them tried their best to keep their faces diplomatically expressionless while others looked outright uncomfortable, throwing glances at their non-Human counterparts as if they might jump up and start accusing them of being pro-Human too. There were a few, however, including the Mantellian, who scoffed, as if the very concept was ridiculous.

“And what evidence do you have to suggest this?” another Human asked,

“Well,” Master Linn said, “given how all our non-Human interrogators were called ‘alien scum’ by our captives, and the fact that every member of the attacking group, including the traitors in our ranks, are Human, I’d say that’s more than enough proof. Our deduction from this is that this organisation, whoever they are, attacked with the intent on making a statement against the ideals of our democracy. The Republic is a metropolitan society in which all beings can live freely, something these thugs seem to dislike enough to endanger their own lives over, as well as those of fellow Republic citizens, Human or not.”

“Is this group localised to Coruscant?” a Duros senator asked. “Or is it more widespread?”

“I’m afraid it’s too early to tell.” Now Theron had picked up the report. “However, the SIS can assure everyone present that this group does not seem to exist beyond the Core. If they do, then they must work on a level of secrecy hitherto unheard of. Regardless, our people are on the situation and we are keeping close tabs on every known terrorist group on the planet.”

“In the meantime,” Master Linn added, “security around the senate and the rest of the Coruscant will be increased. We will catch these perpetrators and we will bring them to justice. That I can promise you.”

“Can’t we enlist the help of the Justicars?”

The Ked-Dor master sighed as murmurs rippled once again throughout the room. “The Justicars are vigilantes operating outside Republic jurisdiction. Asking for their assistance would be tantamount to endorsing their frequent violations of our laws.”

“What about the Jedi?” the Mantellian said. He nodded in Jett’s direction. “This one seemed to dispatch that thug pretty well. Could you not do more to help, Master Linn? In fact, would you not agree that it is the Jedi’s _duty_ to seek out this threat and eliminate it at all costs?”

The question echoed throughout the throng and Master Linn straightened her back, showing the first real sign of irritation. Even Syldron and Qo’ra glanced at one another, knowing precisely what was coming next.

“The Jedi are already stretched too thin,” Master Linn said at last. “The war has demanded a lot of our order and takes up a great deal of our time and attention. Many Jedi have lost their lives on the battlefield and many more lead troops on the frontlines to push back the enemy. I’m afraid, at this moment in time, sending Jedi Knights to hunt a single group of terrorists is out of the question.”

Her final statement was drowned out among a chorus of shouting and jeering. The mediator’s gavel was lost in the din and all attempts at bringing order were quickly forgotten.

“You sit in your little temple on Tython,” the Mantellian said, face twisted in outrage, “hiding from the rest of the Galaxy while the rest of us suffer!”

“All I’m saying,” Master Linn called over the cacophony, “is that had this attack come during peacetime, we might have a few Jedi to spare.“

But it was no use. Senators were walking out of the chamber in protest, some cursing loudly, others regarding Master Linn as if she were an Imperial governor who’d appeared in their midst. Soon, less than half of the committee remained and, with another sigh, Master Linn dismissed them with a promise they will be informed on any developments.

“Politicians…” she grumbled as soon as the room was empty of senators. “Well, at least they are aware of the situation. As far as we know it, at any rate.”

“Could Black Sun be behind this?”

The thought had only just occurred to Jett. He remembered the sneaky, triumphant smile of Zizen as he was dragged out of the delegation earlier that afternoon. It was as if he had known what was about to happen.

“What makes you say that?”

After Jett explained what he had seen, Master Linn rubbed her chin in thought.

“It seems unlikely,” she said. “Black Sun recruits members from all kinds of species. You saw the Niktos who were there with Zizen. He didn’t seem particularly bothered about them. If he was in cohorts with this terrorist group, he would surely have insisted on Human bodyguards.”

“No, but Jett’s right,” Qo’ra said. “What if they were involved? It does seem a bit coincidental that the day we meet with them that the attack happens. After all, they’re the ones that called the meeting and we’re still not entirely clear why.”

Master Linn still seemed doubtful.

“But what purpose would that serve? How would calling six Jedi and a senator into one room make their attack more effective?”

“It does seem convenient, though,” Qo’ra said. “And you, Master Linn, taught me that there’s never any such thing as a coincidence. Everything happens for a reason. It is the will of the Force.”

Master Linn raised her hand. “All I’m saying is that correlation does not equate to causation. But neither are they mutually exclusive. At this point, I doubt we can rule anything out.” She looked at Theron. “What are your thoughts, Agent Shan?”

Theron unfolded his arms. “I think we should follow up any lead we can until whoever’s behind this decides to claim responsibility. If they want to make a statement about how rotten the Republic is, then they have to do it at some point, otherwise, it was just a mindless attack designed to cultivate confusion and mistrust.”

“Oh, it’s cultivated that all right.” Master Linn’s voice dripped with a sarcasm Jett had rarely heard before. This was how he knew she was at the end of her tether. The next politician to cross her path might be sorry they ever did so. “And how about you, Jett?” At last, she turned her gaze towards him, her expression unreadable as always. “Senator Trell said you faced off with a Sith. Is this true?”

Everyone was looking at him and Jett’s stomach clenched yet again.

“I faced off with one of the attackers,” he said. “He had a red lightsabre and used it in a way that suggested he had prior training. He was also strong in the Force.”

“But not a Sith?”

He shook his head. “I have faced Sith. He did not possess the same qualities.”

She studied him a moment before nodding. “Very well. I think that is all we can do for tonight. We should all get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

“What will happen now, Master?” The question came out before Jett could prevent it. He felt as if he’d just dodged a blaster bolt and was eager to know of their next steps, now the question of how he had dealt with the merc was safely brushed aside.

“Tomorrow, we will consult with the Council. We’ll see if they cannot afford to spare a few Jedi to help the effort of hunting down these terrorists. Even if all they do is show up, at least it will keep Senator Trell quiet.”

“So, you mean they won’t actually help?”

She scowled. “How can they, Jett? We don’t even know who’s behind this.”

“But is it not our duty to, as Senator Trell says?”

“Whether it is in our capacity to help is yet to be determined. We may be Jedi, but even we have our limitations. Now, get some rest. All of you. I will convene with you in the morning.”


	6. Rakktarr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflecting on the events of the day, Jett once again runs into Theron Shan, and the two discuss their thoughts on the state of the Republic, a conversation they continue over drinks in Theron's apartment. As talk turns to species mating rituals, can Jett resist his attraction to Theron or will he give in and forsake his Jedi discipline? 
> 
> **WARNING: This chapter contains explicit sexual scenes**

Jett did not go to his quarters as ordered. He wandered the halls of the Senate Tower until his feet carried him back out onto Senate Plaza. It was unusually quiet but the rest of Galatic City was wide awake. The night sky was alight with thousands of windows, stretching out to the horizon like a field of luminous flowers. Overhead, speeder traffic continued as though a major terrorist incident had never occurred.

It was strange how the majority of the galaxy often observed what was going on — whether it be war, economic downturn or a system-wide plague — only to stubbornly ignore it. Perhaps they believed it didn’t affect them. How could they, when not even fifty years ago, this very world was invaded by the Sith? Many towers were still in the stages of reconstruction from the devastating bombardment that brought many sacred landmarks and monuments, including the Jedi Temple, to ruins.

What was the point in defending the Republic if its citizens didn’t know or care about those who were trying to protect them? Were they even aware of how close they came to losing the freedoms they enjoyed every day?

Feeling the light wind in his fur, Jett scowled at the night and turned his back on it. The _rakktarr_ that had been burning inside him all day had mostly burnt itself out. It was still there, kindling like embers in an open bonfire, but it was much more manageable and easier to ignore. It normally died down around this time of the evening, unless something else stirred his desires. Perhaps the events of the day had satisfied his cravings. Hopefully, it should satisfy him throughout the rest of its duration. But an attack on the Senate couldn’t happen every month and there were was no guarantee he would be sent on combat missions whenever it was convenient either.

He was going to see another physician. Not a Jedi healer, no. They would just tell him what they’ve told him thousands of times before — meditate, be mindful, let the Force guide his actions. But even the Force could not control everything.

Could it?

_It could well be the Force. The Dark Side of the Force._

Indeed it could. Even the best of the Jedi felt its pull. Was he destined to fall to it, to become a feral monster indulging in his most violent and hedonistic desires? Never reaching satisfaction. Always lusting, always hungering for the next kill.

“No,” he whispered. “That’s not me.”

But his words lacked conviction. He could well be on his way to Korriban to become a Sith Acolyte by the following month, cast out of the Jedi Order for the beast that he was. Even fellow Cathar would shun him. Jett knew how his kind was treated in the Empire. If they weren’t slaves, they used fear against their enemies to claw their way to the top ranks of the Imperial Hierarchy, as did every other non-Human unfortunate enough to be born on the wrong side of the galaxy.

Maybe they had a point. Maybe living in the Republic, being a Jedi, was not his destiny. Maybe it was the will of the Force, the will of the Dark Side, for him to abandon this more tolerant part of space and live the rest of his life disembowelling Republic troops on the battlefield.

 _Cut it out,_ he told himself. _What would Master Orgus say if he knew you were thinking such things?_

He was shaken out of his thoughts when he spotted Theron gazing over the handrail up ahead. The sight of his finely carved face illuminated by Coruscant’s nocturnal glow made something leap inside Jett’s chest. Suddenly, he was feeling very warm in the face, despite the chill.

“Agent Shan,” he said.

Theron looked round. “Oh! Hi there.”

The Human smiled up at him in a way Jett found endearing. Precious few Humans ever smiled at him like that. He remembered back in the air taxi station when every being present stared at him in abject horror. All of them except Theron.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?”

Jett’s warm cheeks grew hotter. Why had he so impulsively started this conversation when he didn’t even know what to say?

“I needed some air,” he said, only vaguely aware that he was paraphrasing what he said earlier.

“Yeah,” Theron said. “Me too.”

He was still smiling.

“So, uh…” Jett cast his eye around for something to talk about “What were you looking at?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking. You know, about today. About what it all means.” He leant against the railing again. “I mean, is the Republic as safe as we think it is? I’m part of the SIS and even I have my doubts. Doesn’t help Chancellor Saresh is doing everything to undermine us.” He froze. “Uh, you didn’t hear me say that. Officially, I’m supposed to support her actions regardless if I agree with them or not.”

“She’s certainly unpopular among the masses,” Jett remarked diplomatically.

“That is the understatement of the millennium. Sure, she did a wonderful job as governor of Taris and managing its resettlement programme, at least until the Empire came along, but ever since she got the chancellorship, it’s as if she’s become… I don’t want to say drunk on power, but that’s what it feels like. Her decisions are questionable at best. She’s uncompromising and she ignores any advice that comes her way, even when it’s proven to be the best course of action. She’s always concerned with her image, only doing what she does because she thinks it helps maintain her popularity. Seems that she’s too self-obsessed to notice that all her popularity has dried up.”

Jett nodded, though only to cover up the fact that he didn’t have much to say to this. He always found politics distracting and too convoluted to understand at times. He maintained a policy of keeping it at arm's length if he could help it.

“Nobody in the Senate respects her. Nobody in the SIS respects her, either, Theron went on. “She _commands_ respect. She doesn’t earn it. And when all her arguments fall flat, she deflects criticism by insulating that all the Humans in the Senate feel threatened by a Twi’lek in power.” He put a hand to his temple and sighed. “Honestly, the only way to knock her off her perch is by losing her position come next election. I hate to say it, but it looks like this lapse in security is going to work against her. Did you see her public address this afternoon regarding the attack?”

“I’m afraid I missed it.” 

Theron laughed humourlessly. “Never seen the like. Blaming everyone else except herself because her leadership is obviously flawless and couldn’t possibly have led to ineptitude.” He turned to Jett almost imploringly. “Please, tell me that the Jedi at least agree Saresh is in way over her head.”

Jett shrugged. “They don’t talk about her much. I guess they must do on the Council, but I’m not on it so I don’t know.”

“And the Jedi must stand by the Chancellor regardless of their blatant ineffectiveness?”

“Our duty is to the Republic,” Jett said. “Not to its leader.”

“That sounds like something Master Linn would say.”

“She would also say that, despite appearances, we are not at the beck and call of either. However, we must serve in the Republic’s interest regardless if we agree with the decisions of the current office. Short of ending their term in a coup, there’s little else we can do than to work with them. But, if we did overthrow every Chancellor we disliked, the Jedi would be no better than the Sith.” He reminded himself of the thoughts he had earlier about the Empire but pushed them back down.

“You know,” Theron said, “if Master Linn wasn’t a Jedi, she’d make a great Chancellor. I know we used to have Jedi-only Chancellors in the dim past and sometimes I wonder if we ought not to go back to that tradition. Politicians today seem to lack wisdom.”

“You think all Jedi are wise?”

Theron shook his head. “I never said that. But they’re certainly wiser than the average being. You know, being in tune with the Force and whatnot.”

“Well,” Jett said, feeling rather embarrassed. “There are plenty of us who might change your mind on that. I mean… Look at me, for instance. I’m no Kyros Urso or Darred Quell. I’m just your bog-standard Jedi who likes to use his lightsabres too often.”

“I’ve met both Kyros Urso and Darred Quell,” Theron said. “And trust me when I say they thought the same thing about themselves. And now look at them. One saved Tython and defeated the Sith Emperor on his home turf, and the other is Barsen’thor who stopped the Hutts from destroying Makeb.”

Jett rubbed his arm, not sure how he felt being compared to the two greatest Jedi of his generation. Then again, he had known Kyros while the two of them had trained together and the Human never seemed to know more about the Force than he did. Indeed, Jett remembered something Master Orgus once told them both: “A foolish man never seeks knowledge because he is senseless enough to think he knows everything. A wise man, on the other hand, always seeks knowledge for he knows that he knows nothing.”

“I need a drink.” Theron pushed away from the railing once more and began to walk up the promenade. Jett hurried to follow him. “I was thinking of heading to the Outlander before turning in. Why don’t you come with?” He hesitated. “Jedi are allowed to drink, right? I never remember if they can or not.”

“In moderation,” Jett said. “But it’s not encouraged.”

“Aw, come on.” Theron nudged him on the arm. “Big guy like you. One drink won’t kill you, would it?”

“You know,” Jett said, hiccupping as he sat back on Theron’s couch, inspecting his glass. “I never knew Mandalorians made wine.”

Theron was pouring himself a glass of Corellian whiskey in his open-plan kitchen. His apartment was spacious, almost luxurious, yet had a closed-off feel, despite having a balcony. The building it was a part of was on the utmost of the underlevels in the Urscu district. It had its own security force who guarded the foyer around the clock and, despite being directly under a skylane, resided in a quiet neighbourhood. Jett thought it would’ve been much nosier, given the sort of crowd he and Theron had encountered at the Outlander. Gangsters, gamblers and death-stick dealers pervaded the entire space, though none of them gave him and Theron any trouble as they sat at a booth and ordered their blue banthas. Apart from the company, the two of them were enjoying themselves as they did impressions of Senator Trell and Chancellor Saresh. The evening was spoiled somewhat when a brawl broke out between three Devaronians and a Wookie, and they both thought it wise to not stick around to see who emerged as the victor.

Pleasantly intoxicated, Jett was ready to call it a night and head back to the Senate Tower, though he was sorry to part ways with Theron so soon. But the Human had taken his arm and said, in a much louder voice than normal, “Stang, why not? Why don’t you come to my place?”

And so, here they were, sitting among deep cushions in Theron’s own living space sipping vintages the proprietors of the Outlander could only dream of selling. Though Jett knew little in the way of beverages — this was only the second time in his life he had ever been this drunk — he could tell the Mandolorian wine Theron had given him was exquisite.

“I know,” Theron said, suppressing a burp as he made his way over to the couch, drink in hand. He was zigzagging a little and he had to clasp the back of an armchair to steady himself. Otherwise, he was utterly content, his red jacket hanging on its hook by the front door along with his blasters. “You’d think they were too busy fighting one another to stop and think about making wine.”

“Sounds to me,” Jett said, the warmth climbing steadily up his face, though he couldn’t tell if it was his drink or something more biological. “Like you’re prejudiced.”

“Against Mandos?” Theron waved a hand. “Isn’t everyone?”

“Their culture goes back thousands of years,” Jett said, wagging his finger in a fashion not dissimilar to Master Linn. “Just because we don’t understand it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t… Uh, respect it.”

“True, true,” Theron said, sipping more whiskey. “But listen. I think I accidentally pissed off a Mando lady one time. When I rejected her advances, she nearly scalped me.”

“Serves you right,” Jett teased. “For being such a womaniser.”

“Hey, I said she was coming onto _me_.” Despite his words, Theron laughed a deep-bellied laugh. “Oh, I remember it well. Hair red as fire and temper just as hot. I heard it said Mandos just take their life partners for their own, regardless if they want it or not. Gotta admire them, really. When they know what they want, they go for it.”

“You know,” Jett said, “it’s not too different from Cathars.”

Theron sat up, a wonky smile plastered on his face.

“Oh?”

“We don’t take whoever we want. Not literally, anyway. But any mate we choose is ours for life. We’re a monogamous people. Not like you Humans who flirt with anything that moves.”

“That’s odd,” Theron said. “Because I could’ve sworn you were coming onto me earlier.”

Jett spat out some of his drink. Horrified, he wiped up drops he’d got on the upholstery with his palm. But this made the stain spread.

“Oh, stang! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Theron got up clumsily and reached for a dishtowel. “I didn’t pay for it. Here, you’ve got some on you.”

He dabbed at the back of Jett’s hand, though the rubbing motion felt more like a caress. All evening, the drink had dulled the embers of _rakktarr_ but this simple touch stoked back up again, so intensely that he gasped. Theron quickly drew the towel back.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, it’s— It’s nothing.”

To fill the awkward silence, Jett drank a large gulp of wine.

“So,” Theron said, shifting along the couch to be closer to Jett. “Tell me more about Cathar mating rituals.”

Jett swallowed. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, I guess if it’s possible to change your mate once you have chosen one. Or does nature choose it for you? I’ll admit I’m a bit sketchy on the details.”

“It’s complicated. And you have to remember, I don’t understand it much myself.”

“Because you’re a Jedi?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“You suppose?”

“All I know is that Cathars experience this… We have this cycle. We go through it every month. That is the window in which we must choose a mate lest we fall to our more primal urges. Once a mate is chosen, this cycle — the _rakktarr —_ becomes centred solely around the chosen mate. It’s almost like a bond that’s biologically determined by the two Cathar who join.”

Theron nodded. “And what if a Cathar never chooses a mate? Does he live out the rest of his life having monthly cravings?”

“As far as I’m aware,” Jett said, “we have it up until a certain age before it stops completely. At least, the old Cathar I’ve met never seem to have it. Not those on Tython, anyway.”

“You never know,” Theron said, “they might all be secretly married.”

“I always suspected as much. Even Master Satele sometimes makes me think—” Jett halted at the sight of Theron’s face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring her up.”

“It’s fine.” Everything about Theron’s sudden stiffness showed that it wasn’t fine. “But I for one can tell you that Satele Shan is not secretly married. Though she did have a love affair.”

“She did?” Jett was floored. “With who?”

Theron’s lips thinned. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Theron…” The Cathar’s mighty hand found the Human’s shoulder. “Is Master Satele your mother?”

The look on his face was more than enough confirmation. It was also enough to make Jett regret asking the question. Theron pulled away from him and moodily sipped at his whiskey.

“If you mean biologically,” he said after a pregnant pause. “Mother in name only, then yes. Satele Shan is my mother. But the connection we share is merely biological. I was raised by Jedi Master Ngani Zho. He took me in and was more of a parent to me than she ever was.” He closed his eyes and breathed out loudly through his nostrils. “But I don’t hate her. I’ve long made peace with the fact that she and I will never be close. Same goes for my father. Having said that, knowing that her position in the Jedi Order meant more to her than her own flesh and blood… I admit it gets to me sometimes.”

Jett was at a loss as to what to say. In a way, he agreed — Master Satele was wrong to abandon a child simply because her station in the Order was threatened. But did she have any other choice? There had been a war on, after all. Then again, even in peacetime, he couldn’t imagine her as a motherly figure. Every conversation he had with her, she was always stiff, authoritative and a little cold — understandable for someone who constantly felt the weight of the galaxy on their shoulders.

“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for her.”

“No,” Theron said. “But like I said, I’ve long made peace with it. It’s in the past. And I’m glad Master Zho took care of me.” He laughed. “Bet it all seems strange to you — Humans having such temporary connections with their mates then deserting their offspring. Evolution-wise, it makes no damn sense. And yet, Humans are everywhere, even in the Empire.”

“And Cathars are like banthas in a crowd of nerfs,” Jett agreed. “You know they’re around but it’s always a surprise when you spot one.”

“I dunno. I’ve met a few.”

“Any females wanting to rip your head off?”

Thankfully, Theron was smiling again. “Nah. They were all quite good-natured and reserved. Makes it hard to believe this _rakktarr_ thing even exists.”

“They probably weren’t experiencing it. But some have it worse than others.”

Theron turned his gaze to Jett’s own, his expression completely sincere.

“Have you found a mate, Jett?”

“I—” Such a direct and personal question had not yet been asked and once spoken, it was as irretrievable as asking, “Do you love me?”

“It’s okay,” Theron said, seeming to realise his error. “You don’t have to answer.” He glanced at his chronometer. “In fact, you probably should—"

Jett kissed him.

An eruption of unchecked delight burst through him. As he tasted the sharp whiskey on Theron’s breath and felt the warm wetness of his lips against his own, somehow the smell of muja fruit rose above it all and filled him with wanton, carnal bliss. This was spectacular, this was wonderful! How could the Jedi forbid feelings such as these? Never had he felt more connected to the Force, never had he felt more connected to himself, nor more connected to another being. Never he had simply felt so… _alive_.

Then Theron pulled his head back, eyes wide with surprise, and all that joy went up in smoke.

Jett sat up, staring at his fists curled up on his knees. What was he thinking? Why had he done that? If word of this got out—

“I have to go.”

He stood, fumbling for his lightsabres and the pauldrons he’d taken off when he had come in. The infernal clasps wouldn’t hold together and he spent five agonisingly awkward seconds trying to fasten the damn things to his shoulders. Eventually, he gave up and threw them on the floor.

“Does that answer your question?”

He had turned his back to Theron, facing the wall with his arms folded as though it were to blame for his stupidity. He was so embarrassed that it hurt. Reciting the first line of the Jedi Code, he drew in a big breath and let it out.

“Let’s just pretend that didn’t happen.”

“Jett—”

“I’m not supposed to, Theron. You know that. Besides, we don’t even know each other. If the Council find out, I’ll be expelled from the Order for sure.”

Long seconds ticked by as the chronometer hummed. Outside, a droid-piloted speeder bus swooped past, making the apartment vibrate slightly. It was probably prudent to leave. Why had he even come out with Theron, anyway? He was SIS! While allied with the Jedi, they weren’t exactly the Order’s best friends. And why should they be? Who could ever trust a spy?

 _He took you to a bar full of gangsters, for crying out loud! And for all you know, he could have brought you here to see if you could spill some juicy Jedi intel. Besides, it’s only the_ rakktarr _doing this. You’re losing control of it. Again._

But he knew, as well as the features of his own face, that he did not want to leave. He wanted to spend the rest of the night here with Theron, if not intimately then simply as friends. Just for company. Drinking and talking. Why not? Theron was the first non-Jedi he’d ever grown close to — remarkable, considering they’d met mere hours ago.

“Be mindful of attachments,” the Jedi Masters often preached. “For that leads to the Dark Side.”

Did it, though? As fleeting as that… that _kiss_ had been, it was the best feeling he’d ever experienced. There had been nothing dark about it. Not at all.

He felt a hand touch his upper arm and he jumped. Theron had got up to stand next to him. His face wore a sorrowful expression and not, Jett knew, because he was regretting asking Jett to come out for the night.

“If you want to go,” he said, staring up at Jett with that frank sincerity. “Then I won’t stop you.”

Once again, he was close enough for Jett to smell the muja fruit.

“But I want you to say.” Theron reached up and ran his fingers through Jett’s beard. He was just tall enough to reach it. His touch reignited that glorious warmth that spread through Jett like sunlight. Along with it was a tenderness so sweet it nearly brought him to tears.

 _I would do anything to protect this man_. _I would take on the Sith Emperor himself if that’s what it would take._

“I like you, Jett. Very much.”

Never had anyone looked at him the way Theron looked at him now — not out of fear or caution, but with frank, honest affection.

He reached up and took Theron’s hand in his own, just as he had earlier at the taxi station in the cold rain.

“I like you, too, Theron.”

He could not deny it. Not even to himself.

“Then, will you stay?”

Tilting his head, Jett placed both hands on Theron’s cheeks and drew him into another kiss. It lasted longer this time and filled them both with such sweet ecstasy that, to Jett, it felt as if he had touched the fabric of the Force itself.

When it ended, they spent a long moment just gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Yes,” Jett said, allowing a true smile to break across his face for the first time that day. “I’ll stay.”

Theron ran his fingers through the fur on Jett’s cheek.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

He would never have thought clothes would prove to be such a barrier as he struggled to remove his tunic. It didn’t help that he was still slightly drunk or that Theron seemed to find it funny rather than sexy. Regardless, he smiled, feeling his face redden and his loins stir wildly in response to seeing Theron take off his own top.

“Here,” he said, getting down on his knees. “Let me help you get the rest off.”

His erection sprang forth with such keenness it nearly poked Theron in the eye. Jett’s face burned hotter still at the sight of it. Never had he been this hard, not even when he had seen the rivulets of water running down that Human Jedi’s back. He was so aroused that his head poked through his foreskin eagerly, leaking at such an alarming rate that he was afraid that if he touched it he might burst.

“My, my,” Theron whispered. “You really are a big fella.” His breath against his member was enough to send jolts of electricity through Jett’s body. He let out an involuntary moan. “And you said Cathar’s didn’t have tails.”

Theron smirked as he wrapped his hand around the shaft. Slowly, he began to massage it up and down. Jett gasped.

“Stang!” he said, almost laughing. “That was—”

“Good?”

He nodded.

“Would you like me to carry on?”

All moisture seemed to leave his mouth as he placed his enormous hand on the back of Theron’s head. “I want you to put your mouth on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The feeling of his penis in the warm, moist cave of Theron’s mouth was more wonderful and more pleasurable than he could have possibly imagined. The way his tongue worked along the shaft, with the same deftness as his hand, and the way he took it in, all the way to the back of his throat, was simultaneously alarming and impressive. He was close to releasing already and he tried desperately to master his impulses. Theron, on the other hand, seemed to sense this. He took his mouth away and returned to using his hand, clutching the back of Jett’s thigh.

“Not yet,” he said. “We’ve barely started.”

“Keep going like that,” Jett responded, breathless, “and I’ll be finished in no time.”

“Well, then. Guess I should be careful.”

And he was indeed careful, knowing just when to pull back as he resumed whatever magic he was performing with his tongue. They had moved from the living room into the sparse yet close atmosphere of Theron’s bedroom. Jett lay on the bed, sighing as his member was treated with as much love and affection as a member of royalty. He was hardly conscious of the fact Theron had removed the remainder of his clothing — his greaves and his boots — so that he was now as naked as the day he was born and equally as oblivious about it.

After long, blissful minutes, Theron stood up, leaving Jett wonderfully moistened between the legs. Not only was the head and shaft of his penis slick with Theron’s saliva but his balls and the crack between his meaty thighs were too, the fur there finding some kind of pleasure with this sensation. He watched as Theron, too, took off his greaves and stood before him just as naked as he was.

Never could he have imagined a Human to be so beautiful. Theron’s body was slim but chiselled, well-defined muscles standing out prominently beneath his soft, nut-brown skin. Unlike the Human Jedi Jett had seen, Jett did have fur here and there across his body. A trail of it peppered his lower stomach, reaching and stretching out until it covered his entire pubic area. There was also a little of it on his chest, but not much. Jett found this painfully adorable. As much fur as there was down there, it did not hide the truth of Theron’s girth. Jett was pleasantly surprised but also a little intimidated. His was throbbing just as much as Jett’s. He stroked it for a second, tweaking one of the dark brown nipples on his chest. Then he climbed on top of Jett, crawling over his stomach and chest until their faces were inches away. As he leant down, Jett felt his hardness pressing into him. The sensation was a little uncomfortable, like being stabbed by a round and blunt knife, but it only heightened his excitement. That wasn’t the only thing. The smell of Theron’s breath — sweet with the whiskey he had drunk — and the scent of muja fruit overcame his entire being. It seemed to reach out and touch some hitherto undiscovered part of his consciousness, awakening it until it demanded more.

“You’re purring,” Theron said with a soft laugh.

Jett hadn’t even realised he was doing it. His chest and throat vibrated with the inherent pleasure of this moment. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t stop himself. Not that he wanted to; purring turned out to be quite relaxing.

“Sorry,” he said. 

“Don’t apologise. I think it’s cute.”

Jett cupped his chin. “And I think you’re cute.”

Once again, Theron’s cheeks turned scarlet. “No one’s called me that before.”

“Well, I mean it.” He took the hand Theron was using to twirl a lock of Jett’s fur between his fingers and kissed it. “You’re the cutest Human in the galaxy.”

To his surprise, Theron’s eyes seemed to grow rather watery. He made an odd laugh, then bowed his head for a second before taking a deep breath and looking back up into Jett’s eyes.

“And you,” he said, putting a finger against Jett’s lips. His fingertip tasted salty with sweat but pleasantly so. It only quickened Jett’s heartbeat. “You, Jett Jhazar, are the most beautiful being I’ve ever met.”

Now Jett understood why Theron looked tearful. A lump, quite separate from his purring, materialised in his throat.

“You… mean that?”

“I do.” With another quick peck on the lips, Theron sat up, shuffling backwards down Jett’s body. “And I want you. Inside me.”

This had been more than Jett had ever dared hope for. Gleefully, he pushed Theron towards his still throbbing erection. Then he stopped, raising his head a little to watch his face as he asked, “Are you sure?”

Theron didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes. I want it. I want you. Now. Do you?”

By way of an answer, Jett lifted Theron with both arms and lowered him towards his crotch.

“Does that answer your question?”

Theron smiled. “Loud and clear.”

It took a few attempts for Jett to get it right, but once he found what he was looking for, he pushed gently into Theron who in turn pushed against him to better accommodate his girth. At first, it was tight and unpleasant. But once Jett managed to penetrate Theron’s hole, the man gasped and so did he. The tightness grew around the upper edge of his shaft which only increased the more he pushed. He saw Theron wince.

“Am I hurting you?”

Theron shook his head, though his eyes were tight shut. “Just… let me get used to you.” And then, of his own volition, he squatted further down until he was almost touching the skin of Jett’s balls. Jett clutched at the bedsheets, his claws tearing holes in them as he let out kind of animal grunt. He held his breath for a second then released it. At the same time, something wild rose within him. All conscious thought evaporated from his mind. He didn’t just want to make love to Theron — he wanted to dominate him. More than that, he wanted the Human to belong to him and him alone.

The next several minutes passed in wild, lustful abandon. Theron continued to moan and gasp as Jett pushed further and further inside him until he was certain he would split him in half. But Theron only met the aggressive thrusting with growls of pleasure, clutching at Jett’s fur as the two embraced and kissed, linked to each other. Jett clutched at him too, only vaguely aware his claws were still extended. Only as he heard Theron yelp a little did he draw them in again.

_Careful! Or you’ll rip his skin off._

Regardless, he raked up and down, feeling the hot fever of Theron’s love and lust for him beneath his fingers. His body was coated in a heavy sheen of moisture, but this only heightened his intoxicating scent and made Jett more determined than ever to leave the mark of the jungle upon the Human.

They switched positions numerous times. Jett’s favourite, by far, was Theron on all fours as he presented himself for domination. Here it was harder to see his expression, but Jett revelled in the submissive stance, eager to make this Human his property as he fell on his back, almost biting his ear off as he continued to thrust, and thrust, and thrust.

“Jett…” Theron’s voice was weak with exhaustion and ecstasy. “Your claws.”

They were digging into his flesh once again. For a brief moment, Jett felt an awful frustration. Theron should learn to take him — all of him, claws and all! If he couldn’t… Well, that was his problem for being weak. He would have his way with him one way or the other.

“Jett!” This time, Theron’s face screwed up in pain. “Claws!”

The spell broke. Jett retracted his claws and kissed the marks he had left. Shallow wounds now lay on the skin of Theron’s back. He felt awful. How had he let himself do that to him?

“Sorry,” he croaked. “I got carried away.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Theron panted. “Good thing I’m into a little bit of pain.”

Arousal re-stirred, Jett plunged himself once again into Theron’s being. A few minutes later, he felt the moment of climax building, climbing higher and higher, rising in the lower part of his body until it drove dizzyingly towards his release.

“Don’t pull out,” Theron begged. His piteous begging awoke the beast within Jett again. “I want it all. Let me take it.”

Jett wrapped his hand around Theron’s neck.

“Your wish is my command,” he growled into his ear.

With a groan that filled his throat, he let go, still deep inside Theron. It was a curious sensation — a kind of blooming — but blissful as his seed squirted out of him and into his lover. Theron seemed to like it too. His sigh of utter contentment filled Jett with such pleasure it was almost cathartic.

They collapsed on top of the bedsheets, panting. For a long minute, neither of them spoke. They didn’t even look at each other. It was like coming down from an intense hallucination. Only when he caught his breath did he dare look into Theron’s face. Theron was already looking at him, a kind of wonder sparkling behind his eyes.

“Wow,” he said. “That was—“

“Intense?” Jett finished for him.

Theron shook his head. “I was going to say ‘amazing’.”

Jett smiled though, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he also felt a little ashamed. How had he let himself be drawn into this? But all thoughts were forgotten as Theron buried himself in the fur on his chest and he wrapped his beefy arms around his shoulders. The feel of him there — so small yet so precious — was almost a cathartic as his climax. He drew Theron in tighter and kissed the side of his head, just above the cybernetic implant. Theron giggled.

“Guess you’re mine now, huh?” he said.

Jett glanced down at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a Human expression.”

“Oh.” He drew Theron in closer still, suddenly finding his warmth vital. He could feel the Human’s heartbeat thrum against his body, like the soft pounding drum of a distant hunter bassist on Cathar. “So, what does this mean?” he found himself asking.

Now it was Theron’s turn to frown. “What does what mean?”

“This. Us. Being… together.”

A few seconds silence fell away before Theron chose to answer. “It can mean whatever we want it to.”

“And what does it mean to you?”

He rested his head once again in the depths of Jett’s fur. “Something wonderful.”

Jett stroked his shoulders before pulling the duvet over both their bodies and saying, with one final kiss to the forehead, “Yeah. Me too.” 


	7. New Developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after and Jett wakes up with serious regrets. Before he can make the Walk of Shame, however, he is summoned back to the Senate to discuss further developments conducted by this unknown enemy.

Mornings on Coruscant were just as enchanting as early evening. As the sun rose, slicing through gaps in blinds across trillions of window panes, it brought enough light to enjoy one’s first cup of caff as they watched the air traffic whizz past their window. Even some sectors in the undercity got to experience glimpses of the sun’s face is it peeped cheekily between buildings or shone down through the holes in a wide canopy stretched over an open-air bizarre. For many, it was the best part of the day and those who worked reasonable hours during its twenty-four-hour rotation savoured those moments before heading off to the drudgery of their commute.

For Jett Jhazar, such pleasures were as distant as the Outer Rim.

_I shouldn’t have done that._

He lay still naked beneath Theron’s duvet but it only covered his dark blue, furry body only partially. Beside him, Theron snored gently as sunrays danced over his back. It threw the scratches Jett had put there into sharp relief. They looked sore but shallow, meaning he wasn’t seriously hurt. But that was because Jett had been holding back.

What if he had let himself go entirely? What if he’d torn Theron apart?

And yet, despite this, Theron slept so soundly, so peacefully. Jett only wished he could have had such a restful slumber.

_I should not have done it._

Turning away towards the window, laying on his side, he tried desperately not to think about what had happened last night.

_How could I have let this happen?_

He had taken his Human lover into this very bed and had his way with him. The way he went about it was animal, almost barbaric.

It was all his _rakktarr_. That was what he kept telling himself. It was all just biological urges — an itch he had to satisfy. That was all it had been. It wasn’t as though they could be together. He was, after all, a Jedi. Attachment was forbidden. Even if every Jedi Master he ever encountered had a secret lover at one point in their lives, that did not make Jett’s violation of the Jedi Code any better.

He would put on his tunic, grab his lightsabres and sneak out of the apartment as quickly and as quietly as he could. That way he would not have to face the humiliation of going over what happened last night. Odds were they might bump into each other around the Senate Tower somewhere anyway, but at least both would be too caught up in their duties to discuss the night’s events.

Slipping the cover off, he got up and tiptoed around the apartment to find every piece of his clothes. He did this bent almost double as if he was worried about Theron spotting him naked, even though he was asleep and he had got a good look at Jett many times throughout the night. As he slipped on his tunic, however, he felt a bit more like his usual self.

_There_. _Back to business._

He tried to ignore the stabs of guilt at leaving Theron as he fastened his belt and clasped his lightsabres to it. Was he really going just like that? Should he leave a note or something? A holo-recording? The least he could do was make him breakfast.

The shrill whistle of holo-comm pierced his eardrums and, swearing under his breath, he hurried to answer it before it woke Theron. He managed it just before the second chime though it was still enough to make the Human stir and rollover on the bed. Moving to the far corner of the apartment, Jett regarded the 12-inch holo-figure of Master Tetr Linn that had sprouted from the comm’s projector.

“Good morning, Jett,” the Kel-Dor said cheerily. “Sleep well?”

“Uh, no. Not really.” Jett didn’t dare speak above a mutter.

“Ah. Nor did I.” Master Linn sounded mournful and Jett’s guilt stabbed him in the gut once again. She thought he, like her, was preoccupied with recent events. She thought he was a reasonable, level-headed Jedi whose concern for the greater good of the Republic occupied his every thought. She had no idea he had spent the night with an SIS agent and was now so consumed by the shame of it that not even fifty sonic showers in a row would wash it off.

“I request your presence, young one. Same meeting room as yesterday. There have been developments.”

“Developments?”

“It appears this situation is more complicated than we thought. I will explain more when you get down here.”

Of course, she thought he was in the Senate Tower. How was he going to explain his delay in getting there when he had to travel back across Galactic City? He would have to worry about that later.

“I’ll be there right away, Master.”

Master Linn tilted her head. “Why are you whispering?”

"I, err…” He swallowed. Lying to Master Linn was not like lying to anyone else. “I’ve got a bit of a hoarse throat. Think I’m coming down with something.”

“Coming down with something?” Her disbelief was like a slap in the face.

“Yeah. Could be the flu or something. Err, Cathar flu. Nothing serious though don’t expect me to be doing a lot of talking today.”

The holo-image didn’t change but Master Linn’s scepticism radiated from her image as though she were actually present.

“I see. Well, you should be well enough to at least meet us downstairs for today’s brief. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

She cut the communication and Jett almost dropped the holo-comm in panic. Ten minutes? That barely gave him enough time to catch the next shuttle! Stang. What was he going to do?

“Theron.”

The Human sat up blearily as Jett gently prodded him awake. As soon as he caught sight of him, he smiled enormously. Seeing him so happy and content made Jett feel even worse than before. Was he just about to walk out on this man, whose smile was more beautiful than the rising sun?

“Hey there, Big Guy,” Theron said, stretching. Opening his eyes wider, he noticed that Jett was dressed. “You off somewhere?”

Jett gave him a pained expression.

“I need to get to the Senate Tower. Could you, um… give me a lift? I need to be there in ten minutes.”

The smile waned a little.

“Oh. Well, hang on. At least let me put on some pants.”

Seven minutes later, they were whizzing through the morning air in Theron’s custom open-roof air speeder, leaving the Urscu sector far behind. Neither of them spoke. Jett found it difficult to even look at Theron. The Human kept glancing his way as if expecting him to say something but said nothing himself. It wasn’t until they sped past 500 Republica and the rotunda came into view that he decided to break the silence.

“So why did Master Linn request your presence so early?”

Jett tapped his hand on the side of his seat, determinedly watching other speeders whizz by in the next sky lane.

“She said there were developments. From what happened yesterday, I mean.”

Theron nodded. “I thought there might be. Did she mention what they were?”

“She said she’ll explain once I get there.”

“Oh.” The speeder dipped, moving into another line of traffic. “You know, I was scared she figured out where you’d been.” Theron’s laugh had a forced quality to it which Jett decided he didn’t like. “I mean, I bet her mask would fall right off her face if she found out you’d spent the night— Well, you know. With me. Would be pretty funny to see. Of course, not really, she’d die if her mask came off like that but… We had fun, right?”

Closing his eyes, Jett exhaled loudly.

“Sure,” he muttered.

He wished Theron would just stop talking.

“Because I mean, if you didn’t enjoy it then that’s fine, you know, I totally understand. But the impression I got was that you… Well, you enjoyed it _a lot_ , you know. I mean, stang. You were an animal. But in a good way.” His eyes widened suddenly. “Oh, god, I hope that’s not— You know, offensive or anything. I once met a Bothan who took my boss to task for referring to him as a ‘feline’ and I’m sure he was right to—”

“Theron.” Jett turned his head. “Could you just please concentrate on piloting this speeder?”

Theron blinked, face turning from surprise to dismay.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then what gives?” Then, after a silence, “You’re not… _ashamed_ are you?”

“No,” Jett said again. “Now, will you please stop asking questions? I need to get to the Senate and I’m already late.”

Theron’s expression melted into one of hurt but it quickly morphed into a scowl as he rigidly turned back to the skylane.

“Fine,” he said. “I won’t.”

They said nothing more for the rest of the trip. Once they landed on Senate Plaza, Jett barely had time to mutter his thanks before leaping out of the speeder and running towards the entrance. Behind him, he heard Theron take off again, the squawk of his speeder engine letting Jett know that he was still sore.

He would have to worry about it later.

“Jett! You’re half an hour late.”

Calm though she sounded, Master Linn’s patience had to be thin on the ground. She appraised Jett with one of her fathomless stares as he burst into the room, panting.

“Sorry, Master,” he gasped. “I got held up.”

Beside the Kel-Dor, Qo’ra and Syldron looked bemused. Master Linn continued to gaze at him. Had she been Cathar, she might have raised an eyebrow.

“No matter. You’re here now.”

Relieved, he joined them around the circular table which they sat. Along with Master Lin, Qo’ra and Syldron were the three Human Jedi whose names Jett failed to recall. Opposite sat two more Humans and a Mon Calamari, each dressed in military uniform. Going by the medals and number of stars on their shirt sleeves, they had to be quite high in rank. Indeed, Jett at once recognised the heavily-muscled and heavily-scarred Human man in the middle.

“Jett, may I introduce Supreme Commander Jace Malcom of the Republic military,” Master Linn intoned. “And Generals Garza and Var Suthra respectively.”

He shook hands with them all, taking Jace Malcom’s durasteel grip last. As he sat, he could not help but stare at the Supreme Commander. There was something familiar about him.

_Of course there is!_ he told himself. _He’s the face that appears alongside the Chancellor’s on the holonet, along with Grandmaster Satele’s, whenever there’s a crisis that threatens the Republic, which seems to be a lot these days._

He had a feeling, however, that it had nothing to do with that. Had he glimpsed the man yesterday without realising it? Well, it certainly had been chaotic enough. He was sure, though, he would have remembered a face like Malcom’s — bearing the scars he’d earned during the Battle of Alderaan back in the last war.

“Pleasure to meet you,” General Garza, the elderly Human female on Malcom’s left side, said. “We were beginning to think you had got lost. We were about to send up someone to come and get you.”

Jett could think of nothing else to do but laugh nervously.

“And so,” Master Linn began, “now we’re all present, let us begin by discussing the developments from last night. General Var Suthra…”

The Mon Calamari bowed his head and cleared his throat.

“Twelve hours ago,” he began in his raspy voice, “Wen Zizen attempted to escape the detention facility in which he is currently being held. It is unclear how he had managed to do it, but he had caused a distraction by having his two Nikto guards, who were on the other side of the complex… Uh, _explode_.”

Jett’s eyes widened in shock.

“Explode?” Qo’ra echoed. “How?”

“Somehow,” Var Suthra continued, “explosives had been surgically implanted inside their bodies. As far as we know, they were unaware of this as I’m told they were screaming in agony once the bombs were activated. They left quite a mess behind.”

Almost everyone at the table winced.

“How horrible,” Syldron said.

“But wait,” Qo’ra added, “how did that get through security checks? Surely a bioscan would’ve picked up the devices before they were thrown into their cells.”

“It appears,” Var Suthra said, voice lowered to match the gravity of what he was saying, “there was a lapse in that security. We were made aware after yesterday’s events that corruption runs deep among our military, our security forces and the senate. While there’s no proof of it, my guess is that a member of the detention centre’s personnel purposefully ignored or covered up the explosive hidden inside the Niktos, knowing it was always Zizen’s plan to break out.”

“You mean these crooked law enforcers are in cohorts with this terrorist group _and_ Black Sun?” Qo’ra was aghast.

“Or Black Sun could be working with them,” Syldron said.

Both generals looked at each other while Malcom sat stony-faced between them.

“It’s possible,” Var Suthra said, “but there is evidence to suggest Zizen does not work for Black Sun at all. We doubt that’s even his real name.”

“The warehouses we stormed yesterday,” General Garza picked up the story. “All three of them were empty. The whole operation was a ruse. Our men were ambushed by an entire militia of those black-garbed beings who attacked the Senate. They barely escaped with their lives.”

“But we had good intel,” Qo’ra said, her skin going pale. “You can’t be suggesting that even the SIS are conspiring with these terrorists?”

“We can’t be sure of anything,” Var Suthra said. “All we know is that they’re out there and they could be more powerful and more influential than we realise. We cannot underestimate them.”

Jett’s mind was reeling. He could hardly believe what the generals were telling them. Could the terrorists have infiltrated the Republic that deeply? The idea was insane but, as Var Suthra said, everything was conjecture. Just thinking about the possibilities was making him feel hot again. He drank some water.

“Have we captured anymore traitors?” he asked. The question ended in an involuntary growl, causing everyone to look at him sharply. As they looked, the heat burned its way up towards his chest.

_Oh no_. _Not again!_

Soon, the urges he had experienced the day before came crashing over him, almost to the point where he thought he was still in the same meeting and Zizen was in the room with them and the Republic hadn’t gone into meltdown overnight.

He kept thinking about Theron, about what carnalities the two of them had committed, about the way he’d raked his claws along the Human’s back. Worse, he kept thinking about how he wanted to do it all again — to force Theron to submit, to claim him as his mate.

“We’ve questioned more than a hundred Republic serviceman across the board,” Var Suthra said. “So far, we’ve only made thirteen arrests and we’re not even sure about half of them.”

“ _Thirteen_?”

Jett wanted to bang his fist on the table. _Why_ was the Republic military being so inept in a time of crisis? Could they not see the urgency of the situation? They were all talk and no action! The civilisation they all lived in and loved stood on the brink, threatening to collapse from the inside because of a few stupid generals too slow on the uptake and vain politicians who thought attending the opera was more important than protecting—

—Theron on his back, begging to be dominated, for Jett to plant his seed inside him, promising to do whatever Jett wanted, to pleasure him in any way he pleased.

He bit his lip then gritted his teeth.

“That is a disappointing number,” Master Linn intoned.

Var Suthra bristled. “Whoever these terrorists are, they have been exceptionally careful. They do, after all, have insider knowledge. They know better than anyone how to bypass our security procedures.”

“There’s one more thing.”

It was the first time Jace Malcom had spoken and they all started at the sound of his deep voice. Even Jett was broken out of his reverie.

The Supreme Commander clasped both hands in his lap as he regarded them all. Even sitting down, he was an imposing figure. His mouth was nothing more than a grim line on his ruined face and Jett wondered when, if ever, he smiled.

“When the Niktos met their fates in their cells,” he continued, “the guards went straight to Zizen’s cell. They said they expected him to have somehow gotten out and make a run for it down the hall. But he was still in there, sitting on his bed, laughing like a complete lunatic.”

There was a long silence.

“It would appear,” Master Linn said, “that he can provide us with the information we need.”

“That was precisely our line of thinking, Master Linn,” the Supreme Commander said, nodding. “We were hoping that, given the trustworthiness of the Jedi and your special talents, you might be able to make him talk.”

As he made this proposal, Jett fought hard to suppress a grin. It wouldn’t be just the Force he would use to make the scumbag sing like a Mantellian flutterplume.

“With all due respect Supreme Commander,” Master Linn replied. “But we do not use the Force to interrogate prisoners.”

She had placed her hands on the table to make the statement final. Jett stared. He wasn’t the only one. Both Qo’ra and Syldron looked round at her, open-mouthed. Even the three Human Jedi appeared dismayed.

“But, Master,” Jett said. “This would be for the good of the Republic. It’s hardly using it for personal gain. What if we could make him talk? Isn’t it our duty to try?” Master Linn gave him a reproving look but he didn’t back down. “Besides, it sounds like this man has lost his mind. No rational argument is going to break through that wall — not fast enough to get what we need, anyway.”

“I agree,” Qo’ra said. “Master, how can we not use the Force? One simple mind-trick and he’ll tell us everything.”

“We don’t even have to do that,” Syldron added, “we can just nudge him mentally to see things from our point of view. Given the circumstances, I doubt that would be classified as a serious misuse of the Force.”

“It would be better than what the Sith would do,” one of the Human Jedi said. “They would just shock or choke him.”

Master Linn sat up straighter in her chair.

“Compelling someone to confess using the Force,” she said, “is a desperate tactic at best. Outright manipulating them so they tell you whatever you wish to know is, in my eyes, always an abuse of its power, regardless of the circumstances. It violates everything we stand for, that of the freedom of all beings, criminal or no.”

Another growl of frustration made its way up Jett’s throat.

“But Master Linn,” he said. “We owe it to the people who perished as a result of yesterday’s attack to hunt down whoever was responsible for their deaths and bring them to justice.”

“Bring them to justice?” she said. “Or avenge them?”

Jett almost asked, “What’s the difference?” but bit it back.

“Master, every eye in the Republic is on us. They expect the Jedi to help in a time of crisis and this is the biggest crisis the Republic has faced since the war began. But perhaps we don’t need to do any mind tricks. Perhaps knowing he’ll face an audience of Jedi would be enough to make Zizen tell us everything.”

“He faced us all yesterday,” Master Linn reminded him. “And he didn’t bat an eye.”

“We can at least try. We have to _try_ , Master.”

The Kel-Dor gazed at him for a moment then glanced at all the determined faces around the table. She sighed.

“It appears I am outmatched in any case,” she said. “All right. We will go to Zizen. But we will do it together and you all must promise you will let me question him first.”

All the Jedi nodded.

“Then it’s settled,” Jace Malcom said, standing up to his immense height. “We will go to Zizen and see what he knows. Hopefully, you won’t need to resort to using your lightsabres.”


	8. In Solitary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whisked off to a potential lead at a Republic confinement facility, Jett is once again brought face-to-face with his baser instincts as an interrogation fails to get the results his team sorely needs.

The detention facility was on the other side of the Works. A square, imposing complex of three buildings connected by a series of bridges and walkways, it was oddly squat when compared to the skyrises so common on the rest of the planet, and yet, on any other world, it would be immense. Indeed, given how barren the Works tended to be compared to the rest of Galactic City, it stood out like an artificial mountain against the morning sky.

The shuttle which had ferried Master Linn, Jett and all the other Jedi from the Senate Tower touched down on a landing pad on the western wing of the complex. From there, they were escorted by a retinue of guards which Jett thought was hardly necessary — they were _Jedi_ , after all. If any lunatic was going to escape, they would hardly pose a danger unless they also happened to be trained in the Force and lightsabre combat. Regardless, he said nothing as he and the others were led across several walkways and gangplanks. All around them, the walls were nothing but cells. Within them were some of the most hardened criminals on Coruscant, if not the Republic. Still, most were merely detainees kept here temporarily until they were sent off to a far more remote and distant maximum security prison such as Belsavis.

_How many here work for Black Sun?_ Jett wondered. _How many know who really attacked the Senate?_

It occurred to him as he passed more and more cells that he was bearing witness to the largest variety of sentients he’d ever seen in his life. On the first level they walked through he saw a Duros, Neimoidian, Rodian, Devaronian, Bothan, Chevin, Gran, Aqualish, Weequay and a Wookie. No Humans, he noticed. And yet all the guards leading them to Zizen were Human. How many of them were currently plotting to conspire against the Republic? Were they walking into an ambush? Sure, they were armed and could easily dispatch the seven guards currently flanking them. But there must’ve been hundreds more throughout the complex and if the majority were in league with the terrorists, that might pose a problem. Still, it was unlikely that even a small percentage of the guards were crooked. But then, where were the Humans? Why weren’t they amongst all of these other beings? There was even a Cathar whose mane of hair stuck up at the back as he gnawed on an empty food canister. His yellow eyes met Jett’s as he passed and he snarled, hugging the food canister closer to his chest. Jett doubted he would be brave enough to snarl at him outside of his cell but then again, so what if he did? He could use a fight just about now.

He flexed his claws as they piled into a large turbolift and zoomed down several more levels until they reached solitary confinement. Trapped among all the Human stink, Jett wrinkled his nose and once again recited the Jedi code.

_There is no passion, there is only serenity._

Serenity. How could he possibly find serenity when his thoughts were still full of Theron? His ears still rang with the quarrel they had in the open-air speeder. What had he been thinking, asking Theron to give him a lift so early in the morning while pretending nothing had happened between them? He was a fool. An enormous, idiotic fool. Last night had happened. That was something he could not ignore.

_So why does it not feel like enough?_

He tried not to think too hard about what Theron might say about another evening together as the turbolift doors swooshed open and they marched down another gangplank towards solitary. Nobody was talking. Not even the guards made idle chatter as they approached a heavy durasteel door, typed in a code and stood back to let it open with a deafening whirr.

“Stang,” Jett heard Qo’ra whisper. “No one’s getting out of there.”

The cells in solitary were smaller than the rest of the prison. The doors had no bars, either, making it impossible for anyone to peer in to see the occupants unless they used the peephole set at eye level. It was also deadly quiet. Upstairs, they were all deafened by a cacophony of bleating, squawking, yammering, shouting and swearing. The cells here must have been soundproofed. But then, how would the guards know if a prisoner was in trouble? Maybe they didn’t. Maybe, as part of the punishment of solitary confinement, they threw the prisoners in and left them to themselves. A grim ordeal for any being. It was a wonder they weren’t all screaming.

Wen Zizen’s door was at the far end of the walkway. They didn’t stop by it, however, but continued towards a large room with a viewport peering into a second, smaller room. Through the transparasteel, they saw Zizen strapped to a kind of upright table, legs and wrists bound. He was currently sedated, his long hair in disarray about his pale pinched cheeks.

“Could you not have found something else to restrain the prisoner?”

Master Linn’s voice was full of consternation. The guards merely looked at her in an almost bored sort of way.

“Afraid not,” the captain said lazily. “This inmate is a danger to himself as well as others. We had no choice but to rig him up this way, Master Jedi.”

Master Linn scowled then, sighing, she turned to the others.

“All right. Once I’m in there, I want you all to come in only if it appears I require assistance. Understood?”

She nodded and they watched as she stood by the door leading into the interrogation room. A guard pressed a button, releasing a stimulant into Zizen’s neck via a hypodermic. He came round slowly. By the time he was awake, Master Linn had stepped in, the door sliding shut behind her.

“Good morning, Wen.”

Zizen tilted his head back, a lopsided grin appearing on his face.

“Noooo,” he said, almost laughing. “Surely the Senate hasn’t become this desperate so quickly. Barely forty-eight hours and already they send in a Jedi to make me squeal.”

“I just want to ask a few questions,” Master Linn said, ignoring his greeting.

“Why don’t you go and talk to a nebula? You’ll get more of an answer.”

Master Linn circled round the interrogation slab to stand at Zizen’s left side.

“Tell me,” she said. “Why did you kill your men?”

He scowled. “What men?”

“Those Niktos. They weren’t especially talkative during our little meeting yesterday but I got the impression they were loyal to you. Clearly, they had no idea you planned to murder them to aid your escape from this facility. But why dispose of them in such a way when they could’ve helped you from the outside?”

Zizen regarded her with such a disparaging and disgusted look that it made Jett want to reach through the glass and strangle him. He sipped more water, determined to reign in his calm. He had to remember Zizen was Force-sensitive; if he got as much as a whiff of his presence as well as the others behind the one-way transparasteel, the entire interrogation could collapse.

“You call those things _men_?” he asked. “Master Linn, even you must know that Niktos are some of the most violent and greedy sentients in the Galaxy. And if that wasn’t enough, they were Black Sun. They had murdered and robbed more beings than there are in this cellblock. If anything, they deserved to die.”

Qo’ra smiled to herself.

“Slick,” she said.

Syldron nodded. “Not a bad way to get him to admit he isn’t Black Sun.” 

Jett murmured his agreement.

“And how many have you murdered, Wen?” Master Linn asked. “Must be more than both those Niktos put together to have earned their loyalty and secure such a high position in the cartel.”

The smile returned to his face.

“Surely no more than you have killed, Master Linn.”

To Jett’s dismay, the Kel-Dor’s hand retracted quickly from where it rested on the slab. If there was a bigger giveaway that the statement had rattled her, he could not think of one.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Zizen chuckled. “Come now. Surely you must have ended a few lives with that weapon dangling from your belt, especially for someone who has secured such a high position in the Jedi Order. How many?”

Master Linn remained too silent for too long.

“Ohhhh,” Zizen said, now outright grinning. “I see. You’ve lost count. What a milestone to reach indeed! To cover your filthy alien hands in so much blood you can barely keep track of whose it is.” He angled his head towards the transparasteel. “Do any of them know how many lives you’ve ended? Oh, what am I saying? They’re all murderers too. Murderers who kill in the name of their beloved Republic.” His face turned and, despite not being able to see Jett, seemed to look directly into his eyes. “How many more have you got until you reach the rank of Master, Jedi?”

Abruptly, Master Linn gestured and another hypodermic stabbed Zizen in the neck. He was still grinning as his eyes flickered shut and his head slumped back. They all gawked, open-mouthed as she stepped back through the door.

“How did he—?” Qo’ra began.

“He can use the Force!” Jett’s voice rang throughout the confined space, loud even in his own ears. A few of the Human Jedi flinched. “He can sense us through the transparasteel.” Fist clenched, he shook his head. “No. Not us. He could sense _me_ through the glass. I slipped up. I should have more mastery over myself.” Before anyone could respond to this, he faced Master Linn. “Forgive me, Master, but I think going about it this way is a waste of time. We need answers and we need them now. Building up a rapport won’t work.”

“What are you proposing?”

He jabbed his thumb into his chest. The claw which refused to go back into his finger pierced his tunic and he winced as it made contact with skin.

“Let me go in there. It’s like you said to me yesterday: the Jedi sent me on this mission knowing I can intimidate people just by looking at them. All part of my Cathar heritage.” He hadn’t meant to sound so bitter but right then he wished he could just rip the fur off his body, to shed himself of this bestial prison. He wanted to be a real Jedi, no longer a slave to his instincts. But that was neither here nor there. Right now, all that mattered was getting Zizen to talk and he could use his monstrous countenance to make him do so.

Master Linn pondered his suggestion for half a minute until she said, “All right. But no using the Force. Even if he turns violent.”

Nodding, Jett stood before the door, claws flexing once again at his side. It buzzed, slid open and he stepped through.

The air in the interrogation chamber was humid. Sticky. It reminded him of the jungles of Cathar, only without the foliage or the predators.

_There is one predator,_ he corrected himself. _And that is me._

He folded his arms, watching as the stimulant was once again pumped into Zizen’s veins. Jett barely had time to wonder what it must feel like to be constantly put to sleep then reawoken like this before the Human’s eyes snapped open to regard him with barely concealed amusement.

“Ahhh,” Zizen said. “Another alien. I suppose you think I’d get too friendly with a Human interrogator. They might even be looking to set me free. Smart move.”

Jett stepped towards him.

“Who are you working for?” he said. “We know you’re not Black Sun. You might be working alongside them, but you answer to a different master, the one truly behind the attack.”

Zizen seemed to be struggling not to look impressed.

“I knew you were more than just a Jedi brute,” he grumbled. “It appears some of them do have brains.”

A moment of silence elapsed before an idea struck Jett. He waved a hand and the shackles binding Zizen’s hands and feet sprang open. The man collapsed onto the floor as if his bones were made of putty. He seemed awfully small crouched there at Jett’s feet, his orange prison uniform loose on his nimble and rather delicate frame. Without his fine robes to bulk out his silhouette, the effect was rather unimpressive.

Before he had a chance to stand, Jett crouched down to meet him at eye level, fixing his unblinking gaze on Zizen’s face.

“Do you see these?” He wiggled his fingers, showing the extended claws. Zizen nodded. “They can slice through the flesh of an uxobeast as if it were made of shimmersilk. I’m not sure how much you know about uxobeasts, but their hide is some of the toughest found in the Deep Core. Now, if my claws can do that…” He reached forth and pointed at Zizen’s left eye until there was less than a centimetre between the claw’s tip and his pupil. “Imagine what damage they could do to you.”

Behind him, through the transparasteel, he felt the sting of dismay and outrage coming from Master Linn, but she did not burst in to put a stop to the interrogation. Perhaps she believed this was all for the show, all part of the intimidatory tactics.

Zizen barely reacted under Jett’s intense gaze.

“I’ll ask again,” Jett said. “Who is your real master?”

A defiant sneer made its way onto the Human’s twisted face.

“You’ll see,” he muttered. Then, turning to the transparasteel. “All of you. You’ll see soon enough.”

The urge to sharpen his claws on the man’s bones mounted. He understood that if he didn’t get an answer soon, he would not be able to hold back. He pointed the same finger further down Zizen’s face until it touched the lump on his neck. The man was sweating now, mouth twitching. His composure was crumbling. Jett could sense his fear through the Force. And it tasted delicious.

“Why not give us a little preview?”

Zizen swallowed, the muscles in his neck shifting in an almost involuntary fashion as though he longed to pull away. But then, he laughed.

“Are you looking to frighten me, Cathar?” he said. “Maybe you’re not so clever after all. You should know that some bonds are forged in fire and nothing as feeble as fear can hope to break them. So, why don’t you go and play with a ball of string?”

Jett stared at him for a moment before lowering his hand. Then, he got up and marched over to the door. With a single punch, he destroyed the control panel beside it. Already, he could hear shouts and scrambling coming from behind it, feel Master Linn in particular in her alarm. He no longer cared. He went back over to Zizen, who’d scrambled into a corner, and reached out to grab him by the neck. Zizen choked, his feet coming off the floor as Jett squeezed his windpipe.

“Tell me what I want to know,” Jett snarled, hackles raised so far up his teeth he could feel them protruding from his lips. “Or I will disembowel you.”

But Zizen couldn’t make a sound. Feebly, he bumped his fist against Jett’s forearm. Jett raised him a little higher, taking pleasure in the man’s squirms for freedom. Perhaps he should just kill this wretch anyway. Who would miss him? The galaxy was a better place without scum like this. It was his duty to kill him. In doing so, he would be protecting not only the Senate but every citizen in the Republic. He would be protecting Theron.

Theron…

Zizen’s eyes bulged in their sockets, his skin going purple from the lack of oxygen. Finally, his dying, retching gasps pierced the haze that had descended over Jett’s mind.

What was he _doing_?

He loosened his hold and once again Zizen slid onto the floor. The Human nearly sprayed Jett’s boots with bile as he vomited. He barely noticed.

_It nearly happened again._

Jett backed against the wall, realising how thirsty he was and how much he was panting. He barely had time to register the door bursting open as someone on the other side used the Force to overcome the broken lock before all the lights in the room went out.


	9. Lockdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mass prison breakout brings the entire detention complex into lockdown. The only way to get out alive is to get to the warden's office. Jett volunteers for the mission but pays the price in more ways than one.
> 
> **WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of extreme violence **

The darkness lasted for less than ten seconds but it was enough for Jett to wonder if he hadn’t passed out. He felt numb all over. His mind was clouded. Then a red light washed over the scene. At first, he thought it was his vision until he noticed the bulb in the far corner of the interrogation chamber emitting its eerie glow.

In the distance, an alarm began to wail. A distant rumble shook the walls. The Jedi and the guards piled in, looking around in confusion.

“What’s happening?” Qo’ra asked. Her spike-ridden scalp was silhouetted behind the interrogation slab.

“We’ve gone into lockdown.”

It was the guard captain who answered. He was holding his rifle ready on the other side of the room.

“Something has gone wrong.”

Master Linn leant against the wall, her hand clutched to her temple. Jett could sense it too. A flood of high emotion had come rushing down on them all — triumph, malice, mania, and terrible, terrible purpose.

“The prisoners…” Syldron’s mechanical fingers clenched into a fist as he too rubbed his forehead. His eyes bulged in their sockets, his lekku twitching.

Laughter rose from the floor, some way to the left of Jett’s feet. Zizen was crouched over, hair falling over his face as his laugh turned into an insane cackle.

“It’s all going to burn,” he said. “All of it.”

“What have you done?”

Tetr Linn had never sounded so petrified. Above their heads, another rumble shook the ceiling, only now it was much closer. Straining his ears, Jett thought he could hear shouting, cheering, and breaking glass.

“We need to get out of here,” Qo’ra said. “Now!”

“Respectfully, Master Jedi,” the Captain responded, “but that would be unwise. If we go out there, we will only become targets.”

She rounded on him. “You want us to hide in here like a pack of sand bats? We could be all that stands between those prisoners and utter chaos across Galatic City.”

“They can’t get out,” the Captain said. “The complex is sealed with quadruple-layered durasteel. They’d need a planet-grade atomiser to get through it.”

“They got out of their cells. What makes you think they won’t get out of the prison?”

“There are more than three hundred guards stationed here. They will get the scum back where they belong soon enough.”

“No, they won’t.” They all looked at Jett whose voice sounded strange and husky in his ears. He wasn’t sure what made him say it, but he was more than certain that it was the truth. He glanced once more towards the hunched form of Zizen who was still giggling to himself. “They have outside help.”

He marched back into the observation room towards the exit. Drawing his lightsabre, he activated it and plunged the blade into the door, attempting to draw it around the edge and cut his way through. As he expected, it did not slice cleanly, meaning the door had to be sealed from the other side. Abandoning his cutting, he instead shoved his weapon through the middle, twisting the hilt until a red hot circle of plasma spread like a web throughout the durasteel.

“What are you _doing_?” The Captain had reached him first, though he dared not approach Jett too closely. “We don’t know if solitary has been affected by whatever’s happening out there. There could be dozens of maniacs running amock on the other side of that door.”

Jett ignored him, continuing to twist his sabre. He felt the door give a little.

“And given your treatment of Zizen,” the Captain went on, “I worry that they might be subjected to—”

“Don’t pretend you suddenly care for the welfare of your prisoners, Captain.” Master Linn pushed him to one side, the hilt of her own lightsabre ready in her hand. “Not after the condition we found Zizen in the first place.”

The Captain’s face went red with anger.

“If you don’t call off your associate,” he muttered, “I will order my men to—”

“To what? Shoot him?” Jett had never known Master Linn could ever sound so scornful, especially towards a non-Jedi. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Are you threatening me, Master Jedi?”

“No. But I can’t speak for the actions of my ‘associate’.”

Neither of them said anything more as the door continued to melt. Another minute passed and its structure began to collapse in a heap of sparks.

“That should do it,” Master Linn said. “Push through.”

Gathering the Force, Jett hurled it forwards, blasting a hole large enough through the door for all of them to squeeze through.

The sight that met them on the other side made the fur on Jett’s neck, shoulders and arms bristle. All the cells in solitary confinement were open, as was the entrance at the far end. The lights flickered on and off as they crept towards it. They approached each cell carefully, glancing into each one. They were all empty.

“No.” The Captain’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “How could they have all got out?”

No one answered him as, one-by-one, each Jedi activated their lightsabres. Master Linn’s green blade shot out of her palm as she held hers in an upright Ataru ready stance. Qo’ra’s yellow and Syldron’s blue blades came alive too, both back-to-back as they glanced around. All that could be heard was the hum of their weapons, the guard’s nervous breathing, and the distant explosions taking place on the upper levels.

“Sergeant Yon, do you copy?”

The Captain was attempting to reach his superior through his holocomm but all he got in reply was static.

“We need to reach the Warden’s office,” one of the other guards said. “It’s the only way to deactivate the lockdown.”

A noise drew all their attention. It came from the far end of the hallway and sounded like a metal bar being dropped to the floor. Jett marched forward, peering into the cell closest to the entrance. A Bith lay cowering in the corner, his long hands covering the majority of his vast cranium. As Jett stepped forward, his foot nudged something on the floor. Glancing down, he saw it was indeed a metal bar of some kind. The Bith must have intended to use it against them but, realising the majority of the aggressors were fully armed Jedi knights, lost courage. But, seeing the bareness of the tiny cell, Jett could only guess where he’d acquired his crude weapon.

“You!” The Captain had once again caught up. “Inmate 4393. How did you open your cell? Where are the other prisoners?”

The Bith babbled something that Jett couldn’t understand. Neither could the Captain.

“Speak Basic!” he roared. “We know you can.”

“Captain.” Master Linn held out a placating hand. “Let us handle this.” Using that same hand, she waved it in the air and suddenly the Bith’s hands fell away and he turned his bulbous black eyes up towards the Kel-Dor.

“You will tell us what happened here.”

Jett stared at her. For all her talk against it, her use of a mind trick on a frightened prisoner struck him as alarming and immensely hypocritical. Judging by the frown on Qo’ra’s face, she thought ao too. Then again, the circumstances were dire. Perhaps Master Linn had finally conceded that they were now a necessary tool to help them all get out of here alive.

The Bith continued to speak his own language. Master Linn seemed to understand it as she nodded in response to what he was saying. When the Bith fell silent again, she turned to the Captain.

“He says the door cells just opened. He remained here while all the others ran off towards the turbolift. He was terrified.”

The Captain raised an eyebrow. “I know Jedi are known for their compassion,” he said, “but you must understand that these inmates are down here for a reason.”

“I am aware of that, Captain. But violence or the threat of violence…” She glanced at Jett and he turned away from her. “Will not help the situation. As it is, we now know the solitary inmates are loose among the other prisoners, no doubt wreaking as much havoc as they can.”

The Captain nodded. “In that case, we need to get moving.” He marched out of the cell, his men falling behind him as he primed his rifle, doggedly determined to retake command. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Master Jedi, every inmate is implanted with a tracking chip once they enter prison. It also serves as an extra level of punishment in case they get too rowdy. Nothing painful, just a mild shock to the nervous system.”

Going by Master Linn’s stiff posture, she did not think much of this measure at all but said nothing, allowing the Captain to continue.

“We could use it to render every inmate inert, giving us the chance to return them to their cells before they do any real damage. Unfortunately, the controls are in the Warden’s office, on the uppermost floor. I’d imagine it would take some work to get in there. But, seeing as we have no alternative…”

“Very well.” Master Linn gestured at Qo’ra and Syldron. “You two, go with the captain to the Warden’s office. Jett, you and I will help the guards round up what prisoners we can.”

“Master,” Jett said, bowing his head in deference. “They would get there a lot quicker if I were to go along—”

“You will do as you’re told, young one.”

Only as she glared at him did Jett understand why she wanted him at her side. After his little performance in the interrogation room, she wanted to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t lose control again.

“All due respect, Master Linn,” the Captain said. “But I would feel much more comfortable if the Cathar were to come with us. I fear what he might do to the other prisoners.”

Master Linn put her hands on her hips. “We have no time to discuss this.”

“But Master,” Qo’ra said. “Jett is the strongest of all us. With his abilities, we will get there much faster, and the prison will come out of lockdown much sooner.”

The Kel-Dor glared at her, then at Jett.

“All right, all right,” she said. “Jett, you go with the captain. Syldron, you come with me. May the Force be with you.”

Outside of solitary, they took the turbolift to their respective levels. Soon, Jett found himself alone with the Captain, Qo’ra, and two of the guard. They rode the turbolift in silence. It surprised Jett it was still working, given the circumstances. Then again, the Captain had fiddled with the control panel before they set off, which could mean he had some kind of manual override.

“Are you okay, Jett?”

Qo’ra was looking at him with concern crinkling her Zabrak features. He tried to smile at her but found the muscles around his mouth too stiff.

“What happened back there with Zizen?”

He shook his head, not wanting to discuss the matter in front of the Captain who glanced at them while he checked his ammo clip.

“I could feel your rage pouring through the wall,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “It was so… raw. Like a predator before it pounces on you.” At his quailing look, she backed up a little. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it like it. It’s just I’ve never felt anger like that before. At least not from you. I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Your concern is noted,” he said gruffly.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m only trying to—”

The lift jerked to a halt, sending all of them crashing to the floor. The light had been minimal enough already but now it went out entirely. With a lot of grunting, Jett got to his feet, groping for the handrail.

“What’s happening _now_?” he growled.

Yellow light flooded the car. Qo’ra had activated her sabrestaff. Jett did the same with his own. He saw the guards get groggily to their feet too, switching on their shoulder-mounted torches. Meanwhile, the Captain was at the control panel which buzzed in protest as he tried to get the car moving again.

“Blast!” he shouted. “Where’s an astromech when you need one?” He turned to them all. “It’s no use. We’ll have to break out of here and continue to the uppermost level on foot.” Then, to Qo’ra, “Is there any way you can get us out of here?”

She nodded then, pointing her sabre towards the ceiling, cut a hole through the durasteel, leaping aside as the metal fell to the floor of the car. Without hesitation, she leapt through it onto the roof. Jett followed her up there. The shaft was cavernous and draughty, blowing a stale, soot-filled breeze through his fur as he looked around. Above and below them, doors to the other levels could be seen. The next one above them was a few feet from their car.

“That’s going to be a pain,” Qo’ra said. “Good thing you’re so tall.”

She knelt beside the hole and helped the Captain and his men onto the roof.

“All right,” Jett said. “I’ll begin cutting.”

But as he drew out his lightsabre, danger-sense prickled his body. A blaster bolt flew right past him and put a burning hole in the mechanism that held the car in its position. The sound of it echoed throughout the shaft and, another second later, Qo’ra deflected a second bolt away from their party. Jett glanced up. Several floors above them and off to the right, two silhouetted figures were aiming blasters at them. Judging by their hooting and cheering, they must have been inmates. They fired again and again, causing the Captain and his guard to fire back. One bolt hit a guard squarely in the centre of his forehead and he fell back, dead.

“Jett!” Qo’ra deflected more and more bolts as they rained down on them. “Hurry!”

Taking up his blade, Jett plunged it into the door above them. But even at his considerable height, he could not get all the way up. Cursing, he attempted to climb the shaft for better reach, but this sacrificed leverage and prevented him from defending himself using his second lightsabre.

Struck with an idea, he reached out with the Force and used it to push the blade embedded in the door upwards to cut through the rest of it. The lightsabre began to slide up on its own, much to his relief, although it might have been quicker going had he not been concentrating on keeping blaster bolts from entering his skull.

The Captain cried out as one bolt struck him in the shoulder. Furiously, he fired off all his rounds until the ammo clip was empty. At least one of them found their mark. There was a cry and one of their aggressors fell through the open door and down to the shadowy depths of the shaft below.

“Almost there.”

The sabre was near the bottom of the door again, having created a bright orange circle around the edge to weaken it. Another bolt nearly struck his outstretched hand. With a roar, Jett swung his second blade across the shaft until it cut through the second shooter, who fell back out of sight. Recalling his hilt, he heard the door above give way and soon both sabres were back in his palms.

“Come on!”

He hoisted himself up and pushed through into the corridor on the other side, only to be met with a crowd of inmates, all armed, rushing up the corridor towards him. With cries of triumph, they opened fire. Jett had no choice but to stand there, blocking every blaster shot he could. His blue blades performed their usual dance as he fell into the Force, bolts ricochetting into the corners out of harm’s way. A few flew back at the inmates, incapacitating them at once, but there was still too many for Jett to handle alone.

A flutter of robes announced Qo’ra’s arrival as she landed beside him. The two Jedi rushed forward, using the Force and their blades to dispatch their enemies. Realising the battle was lost, the remaining inmates dropped their weapons and ran for it.

“I knew it was a good idea to bring you along, “ Qo’ra said, smiling at Jett as she reached down to help up the Captain and the one remaining guard. “All you all right?” she asked him but he brushed her aside.

“Nothing a med-droid can’t fix.” He reloaded his rifle. “We still have ten stories to climb. Let’s move!”

One-by-one, they began their arduous journey towards the top level, fighting various pockets of inmates who had broken free from their cells. There were too many to count but Jett and Qo’ra did their best not to kill if they could help it, lest they brought the ire of Master Linn down on them. Had things have gone his way, Jett would have unleashed his full Cathar fury on them. Maybe the fear he’d inspire would eliminate the need to activate the inmate control panel in the Warden’s office. This was an appealing thought but he knew he was letting his bloodlust get the better of him.

_Just focus on getting out of here alive_ , he told himself. _Then worry about your kriffing_ rakktarr _problems._

Now and then, once Qo’ra dispatched an enemy, Jett saw her kiss her fingers then touch her cranial horn decorations dangling in the centre of her forehead. This was some personal ritual known only to herself, something to do with an Iridonian religion’s attitude towards life and death. He wished he had a similar token. Maybe that way he could channel his growing primal impulses.

The ground was littered with corpses and the injured bodies of guards and inmates. Had they any time, they might have stopped to help, but they had wasted what precious time they had already. At least the med-droids were out in droves attempting to patch anyone up who looked to be in urgent need of medical care. It filled the corridors with the cold, antiseptic smell of bacta and kolto. Despite this, it was alarming how few guards there seemed to be. The Captain had spoken of hundreds and yet there was more of the inmates among the fallen than personnel.

Qo’ra seemed to have noticed this too.

“Why are there so few prison staff? Shouldn’t they be helping us?”

The Captain either didn’t hear her or pretended not to as he shuffled ahead of them, grunting as he resisted the urge to clutch at his injured shoulder.

“Captain.” Qo’ra tried again. “You know I can get the answer out of you if I wanted to, with or without your permission. So spit it out.”

He turned, scowling.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Could they not be focused on the other levels?” the remaining guard said. “Maybe some mass riot has broken out in one of the other cell blocks and they’re trying to contain it. With comms down, we can only guess.”

But Jett noticed the Captain look away from them all too abruptly.

“There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

The Captain didn’t respond.

“You’re hiding something,” Qo’ra muttered.

“Sir?” The guard looked to his superior with worry creasing his face.

“You really shouldn’t try to deceive a Jedi,” Qo’ra added. “Especially two of them.”

The Captain’s shoulder slumped, surrendering to the pain. Shame and regret radiated from him through the Force.

“I never dared believe it,” he said. “But I heard the rumours, the stories. I was certain they were wrong.”

“What stories?”

Struggling with himself, the Captain adjusted his posture and cleared his throat. “For the last six months or so, the guards have been talking. They spoke of these clandestine meetings that take place on some level down near solitary. I just assumed they were secret gambling nights where they wagered with the inmates’ impounded property. I’ll admit, I was a little annoyed when I wasn’t invited.

“Then, one night, a guard came to me and asked if I knew what was going on in these meetings. When I told him no, he said there was a name that kept going around, one he assumed belonged to a gang but when he spoke to an inmate, they had no idea what he was talking about. That was when he grew suspicious and tried to get into one of these meetings. But they wouldn’t allow him in. When I asked him why he said he wasn’t sure but he had a feeling it was because he was Nautolan. Regardless, he somehow found out that this ‘White Claw’ was not a gang but a kind of elite group of Humans — almost like an unofficial club or society — that had a strict no-alien policy.”

Jett and Qo’ra looked at one another.

“Did you report this to the Warden?” she demanded.

“No.” At her disgusted frown, he added, “Hey, the guy was a known drunk! He’s been caught drinking on the job five times and he’s been known to make stuff up. Besides, how likely is it that an unknown secret society is operating right under our noses without the knowledge of the prison’s administration staff.”

“Maybe the admins were in on it too,” Qo’ra said.

It was plain at once the Captain hadn’t thought of this as his face went red again.

“Listen, if you work here long enough, you hear all sorts of crazy stories. You develop a policy for ignoring half of them, even if they turn out to be true. Besides, this one sounded too farfetched for me to do anything about it without proof.”

“Have you heard anything about these White Claw meetings?” Jett asked the other guard who nodded.

“The Captain’s right, though,” he said, nervously. “It’s hard to take anything seriously when you’re surrounded by nutjobs like Zizen.”

“Point is,” the Captain said, “this group could be the reason why few guards are performing their duties. It might be out of protest. If they’re pro-Human, they probably think the best thing to do would be to let all the aliens kill each other.”

“Or it could be part of a far bigger plot.” Jett scowled as he turned it over and over in his mind. “What is the alien-Human ratio of the prison staff?”

“I can’t give you an exact number,” the Captain said. “But I’d say around seventy percent are Human, the rest non-Human.”

“And how about the admin staff?”

The Captain looked baffled. “I don’t see—”

“How many?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve never seen a non-Human working up in admin, so I guess the ratio for non-Humans is a lot smaller.”

“Captain!” The guard raised his blaster. “Up ahead.”

The had reached the admin level now, the stairs leading up the Warden’s office right in front of them. But they weren’t alone. While the escapees and prison guard numbers had thinned the further they had moved along, this corridor was dense with figures clad in black. Jett froze. They all wore the same uniform as the terrorist group that had attacked the Senate Tower. 

As the guard spoke, they all turned their red-goggled eyes on them, revealing the white claw print impressed on their tunics. Half of them raised their guns, while the other half drew out melee weapons — vibroblades and electrostaffs. One or two of the dozen or so that were present, however, drew out weapons that Qo’ra and Jett recognised at once. A snap-hiss reached their ears as two red plasma blades extended from their hands.

They charged their way towards them.

“Open fire!”

The Captain’s bellow was lost as he and his guard let loose a torrent of blaster bolts. The enemy shot back but, with Qo’ra and Jett present, they were able to prevent any real damage. That being said, their own lightsabre wielders did the same, putting the odds dramatically in their favour. Jett wished the Captain had brought up more guards.

The battle was long and brutal. The black-clad thugs attacked with the same disregard for their own safety as they had the day before. And yet, their strategy was not as berzerk as it might have appeared. The lightsabre-wielders, for instance, hung back, letting their comrades throw their lives away before they were forced to engage.

It was a good strategy. Tiring out the enemy with grunts before delivering the killing blow. The fight had barely lasted five minutes and already Jett was feeling weary. A few of the blaster bolts fired his way missed his blades and he had to duck to prevent himself from getting hit. A stray vibroblade sliced a deep cut across his arm and, with a roar, he put both his blades into the man who gave it to him, splitting him in half with no small amount of satisfaction. Qo’ra too was tiring. Somehow, she had been pushed into a corner by three of the enemy. Had she not used quick thinking and her Zabrak agility to slice open all their throats with her blade, she might have been killed. Almost at once, she was grabbed from behind and she had to work extra hard to not only free herself but make her next kill.

Their first casualty came when their remaining guardsman was shot down. A hail of blaster bolts shot from heavy blaster put three scorch holes in his armour’s chest plate with a fourth hitting him in the knee and a final one catching him in the abdomen. He fell, blaster clattering to the floor. The Captain, who was nearby, didn’t hesitate and rolled over to pick up his weapon. Now wielding two blasters, he yelled out an oath as he let loose a torrent of blaster fire. That was until an assassin snuck up behind him and put a vibroblade through his back. The Captain coughed blood and collapsed to the floor, quickly followed by his killer who Jett decapitated.

Soon, only half of the enemy remained, but with only the two exhausted Jedi left standing, it was a safe bet that the fight would be over soon. Jett refused to surrender. So did Qo’ra. With a nod, they raised both their weapons and charged.

They fought for what to Jett felt like an eternity. The four remaining non-lightsabre-wielders showed proficiency and skill in combat the likes of which he nor Qo’ra had ever seen. There was something almost animal in the way they swiped and slashed with their blades or attempted to hit them again and again with the butts of their now useless rifles. But at last, at long last, they fell and now only the sabre-wielders remained.

They stood, staring at them, red blades humming at their sides.

“You’ll not get past us, alien scum,” the one on the right said. Judging by her voice, she was either Human or near-Human. Jett was willing to bet on the former.

“You’ve exhausted all your reserves,” the one on the left added, a male. “There’s no way you can win.”

“Soon, Coruscant will burn,” the female said. “And the new order will rise.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jett clutched at his side as he asked the question, bringing his attention to at least two broken ribs. “Humans and non-Humans coexisting peacefully are one of the core foundations of the Republic.”

“The Republic has always belonged to us!” The male raised his lightsabre. “A true representation of Human accomplishment. Then you freaks had to get your slimy hands all over it. You took what we had built and made it your own. Who were the earliest colonists? Humans. Who were the first Republic senators? Humans. Humans even made up the majority of the first Jedi. But even they have fallen to alien corruption.”

Jett knew this was far from true. Though the founding days of the Jedi were largely lost in the mists of time, there was plenty of evidence to suggest that non-Humans were just as plentiful. The same could be said for the Republic itself. But somehow, he knew that even when presented with that evidence, this man would refuse to see it.

“And now,” the woman said, joining her counterpart in her combat ready-stance. “Time for you to die.”

They rushed towards them, coming at Jett and Qo’ra with a series of quick slices and cuts. Jett was able to parry them all, but he could tell at once these adversaries were infinitely more skilled than the opponent he’d faced at the air taxi station the day before. Had Qo’ra not been with him, he was sure that he would not have survived long. It was also apparent that the two assassins had either trained together or fought so often that they were used to each other’s movements. One moment, Jett would be fending off the male then he would turn to find the female coming down on him with a vicious strike. A Force push might send them skidding backwards, but they were trained enough to shield themselves from such attacks and the move was nowhere as effective as it should have been. It seemed to the best way to fight them was to separate them.

Choosing the male, Jett dived at him, putting a show of strength in his attacks that could only be countered by a series of ducks and weaves. This was good as it allowed him to push the male away from his counterpart until the two of them were fighting one-on-one. Seeing what he was doing, Qo’ra took her sabrestaff and engaged with the female, pushing her in the opposite direction to the other end of the corridor.

But the male had a trick up his sleeve.

Ducking under another swipe from Jett, he turned to one side and, with a flattened hand, he struck right at the bleeding wound on Jett’s arm. Jett roared with pain and his concentration broke long enough for his opponent to Force push him against the wall, causing him to drop one of his sabres. The male then took the opportunity to slice the hilt in half.

“Evenly matched now, Jedi filth.”

Growling, Jett lunged at him, resorting to the Djem So form now he was down a lightsabre. He was far less practised in this art and he knew it, but at least he was still able to fend off his opponent.

Up the corridor, there came a scream. Jett glanced round for the briefest of seconds to see the female assassin lay on the floor, the end of her right arm cut off at the elbow. Qo’ra held her sabrestaff at her chest.

“Submit!” she commanded.

The female hurled obscenities at her through her mask. She kicked Qo’ra’s legs out from under her and, with her remaining hand, picked up her lightsabre and continued to do battle. Jett barely had time to absorb this astonishing sight when the male came on him again, putting more power behind his blows.

Their blades locked, red on blue, and Jett used the muscles in his aching shoulders and back to shove his adversary against the wall. The male grunted in exertion then, reaching out with a hand, sent three stray blasters hurling at Jett using the Force. Jett easily cut them down to size before they could cause any harm, but the distraction was enough for the male to push away from the wall and resume the fight.

With a jolt of alarm, Jett realised that they were now much closer to Qo’ra and the female assassin and once again, the Jedi began to fight both opponents at once. The dexterity of the female, in particular, was alarming, especially considering her missing arm, as well as the male’s cunning as he used underhanded tactics to strike at them both. Soon Jett found he’d exchanged his opponent entirely and the female attacked him with a ferocity he’d never seen in a Human before. She pushed him back, and back, and back. Soon his feet caught the stray leg of a corpse and he fell onto the floor, dazed. He recovered just in time for the female to bring her lightsabre down on him.

Hopelessness washed through him as he glared at the red lenses hiding the woman’s eyes. It was no good. Both she and her partner were too strong. But they would kill them if they surrendered, purely for the crime of being non-Human.

_There’s only one way I can beat her_. 

The urges which had threatened to boil over back down in solitary rose within him again, and this time, he let them take him.

A savage roar escaped his mouth. He swiped at the woman’s face, claws fully extended. Blood peppered the durasteel floor as she reeled back, clutching at her now ruined face. But Jett was not done with her yet. Shoving her against the wall, he tore into her, ripping through tunic and amour until he reached the skin. All he saw was red as he continued to tear and rip. The assassin's death throes as her body was torn apart went limp once he’d reached bones. He revelled in the kill, licking his lips before sinking his teeth into her unmaimed arm and tearing it off.

He neither noticed nor cared that Qo’ra had paused in her fight to gaze at what he was doing, her face filled with horror. The man had stopped too, lightsabre almost slipping from his hand as he took in the gore in front of his eyes. But he recovered quickly. Before Qo’ra even had a chance to defend herself, he sliced through the hilt of her sabrestaff and his blade cut deeply into her abdomen. Qo’ra’s face formed an expression of surprise before she fell onto the floor.

“ _Qo’ra!”_

Bloody, murderous purpose overtook Jett. Moving on all fours, he pounced onto the male assassin who raised his lightsabre ready to fend off the monster bearing down upon him. But, like Qo’ra, his reaction came too late.

Jett’s fist punched through his stomach until it came out the other side. Like his female counterpart, the man’s corpse spasmed horribly before going limp. Only then did Jett retract his blood-stained hand, bits of spine clutched in his fingers. But it wasn’t enough. He tore into the dead man’s throat next, ripping it to such a state that the head came off. Only when the body was utterly ravaged did Jett pull back, panting and observing the scene.

The carnage was great. Both floor and ceiling were scarlet and dripping with blood. But he had eyes for only one thing.

“Qo’ra!”

He went over to the Zabrak and the sight of her staring at the ceiling as she clung to life drained whatever bloodlust that remained out of him. He knelt over her, smearing her face with blood as he clutched his dying friend in his arms. She didn’t look at him. She only coughed and said, “Jett…”

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right. We’ll get you some bacta. You’ll be—”

“I can’t see, Jett.”

She reached up and tried to find his face with her fingers. A terrible, sick feeling took hold of his stomach. In the moments before death, Zabraks typically lost their eyesight. It was the first sign that there was nothing that could be done. No amount of kolto or bacta was going to help.

He pressed his forehead against hers, doing his best to stem the grief that welled up inside him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry.”

Her hand found his cheek. He reached up and clutched it. Something hard and metallic pressed against his palm. Opening it, he saw that she had given him her cranial head decoration, the one that usually hung her central horn against her foreheard. 

“Tell Syldron…” She swallowed. “Please, tell him–“

“I know,” he said, voicebox tightening. “I will.”

She smiled one last time before the light left her eyes and Jett felt her presence fold back into the Force, where he could no longer reach her.


	10. Panopticon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beaten and broken, Jett finally reaches the Warden's office only to learn that stopping the prison riot is not going to be as easy as they had all thought.

How long he crouched there, he couldn’t begin to guess. It could have been an hour or an entire day. Regardless, it slowly dawned on Jett that he still had a mission to accomplish, though, with the Captain and the guardsman both dead, he had no idea how we were supposed to get into the Warden’s office. He was worn out. Wrung dry. What was the point? Let the prisoners have the place. Let them do what they want. Hopefully, they’ll kill each other off and the galaxy would be a safer place.

_Stop that_ , he told himself. _You know what will happen if you abandon this mission. Remember your training. There is no death, there is only the Force._

Getting to his feet, he picked up his remaining lightsabre and lumbered forward. He must have made quite a sight — all cut up and covered in Human blood. He could still feel bits of the male’s assassin’s innards under his nails.

What would Master Linn think when she saw him like this? What would the Jedi Council think? What would _Theron_ think?

He didn’t wish to ponder it. Summoning all his remaining discipline, he drew all his focus on the task at hand. Get into the Warden’s office. Activate all the prisoner biochips. Then maybe this nightmare will end.

He met no opposition as he made his way up to the final floor. All the administration rooms were empty. Even the alarms seemed to have screamed themselves into silence. He could hear nothing but the dull thudding of his own heart.

The Warden’s office remained unguarded. Had he been fully rested and aware, he might have treated this with some suspicion. But he ran towards it, not caring if a turret gun might descend from the ceiling and shoot him in the head. As it was, nothing happened as he reached the door and used his lightsabre once again to cut his way through it. It took no time at all and once the door had given way, he made his way inside.

The room was elaborately decorated, filled with enough gold fittings and abstract pieces of art to give the Chancellor's office in the Senate building a run for its money. There was also a kind-of lounge area and a series of consoles that would not have looked out of place in a game’s arcade. It appeared the office served as the Warden’s quarters as well as his base of operations. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed panoramic views of the works and Galactic City beyond. Bright sunshine shone through, making Jett cover his eyes. Could there really be sunlight when everything seemed so dark and grim?

He glanced around. The room was empty.

Or was it?

Sensing a presence behind one of the abstract sculptures, he unclipped his lightsabre and crept forward. He barely poked his face around the side of the statue when he found the barrel of a blaster pistol pointed at his face.

“I’m warning you! I know how to—” The thin, moustachioed man gazing at him opened his eyes wide with surprise. “A Jedi? Oh, thank the stars!” Lowering his blaster, the man straightened up and brushed his grey uniform. “I suppose you came here to rescue me.” He eyed Jett with sudden wariness, taking in his appearance. “You’re covered in blood,” he finished, weakly.

Jett ignored this comment.

“Are you the Warden?”

Stiffening his back, the man assumed what he must have thought was a professional posture.

“In a manner of speaking. Though, after today, I doubt I will be much longer.”

“I need you to activate the inmate biochips,” Jett said. “It’s the only way to subdue all the prisoners.”

The Warden looked flustered.

“Don’t you think I’ve already tried that?” He shook his head. “Whoever this enemy is, they know everything about us! They must have cut the power generators and severed all links to this office. I’ve not been able to get in touch with anyone.”

Despairing fury briefly overtook Jett’s mind. His fist clenched at his side and he bit back a torrent of abuse. Had he come all the way up here only to find the biochips weren’t _working_? They had to work! Otherwise, Qo’ra would have died for nothing.

Calming himself, he put his lightsabre back onto his belt.

“Is there no back-up generator?”

“Yes,” the Warden said, “but it comes on automatically once primary power gets cut off. If it hasn’t come on by now, that means that has been compromised too.”

Jett turned away from him.

“There must be something we can do.”

He made his way over to a wide desk in front of the window. He searched it from top-to-bottom — opening drawers, pressing buttons, turning dials, all of which produced nothing more than an irritating orchestra of useless clicks. He began to slam his hand down on the controls harder, and harder, until his fists pounded against it, making large dents in the polished Alderaanian wood. When at last he exhausted himself and his arms throbbed too painfully, he backed away from it, leaning against the window while placing a hand over his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Master Jedi.” The Warden sounded almost sympathetic. “But nothing’s working. Until the authorities get here, there isn’t anything we can do but remain here and defend ourselves.”

“My friends,” Jett growled, “are down there right now, risking their lives doing what you and your people have failed to do!” He rounded on the Warden and with his ferocious, blood-stained face, the Human could not help but shrink back in fear. “For all I know, they could be dead too. All while you sit here crouching in your penthouse waiting for it all to blow over.”

“But, Master Jedi.” The Warden clutched his gun closer to his chest as if Jett’s words had offended it. “I am, after all, only the Warden! What could I have done to prevent this? I’m not trained to fight. What difference could I possibly make?”

“The difference,” Jett snarled, bending closer to the Warden who nearly fell over in his haste to get away from him, “between order and chaos, between civility and savagery, between life and death.”

He advanced on him, not sure what he was intending to do, but the Warden, rediscovering his courage, pointed his blaster at Jett.

“Now, hold on a minute!” he said, voice trembling with flimsy authority. “I’m warning you. You may be a Jedi, but if you don’t back off—”

Jett snatched the gun from his clutching fingers then snapped it in two. The Warden paled.

“I suggest,” Jett said to him in a low growl, “that you help me find a way to get all the prisoners to return to their cells, otherwise, you’ll be facing a life term behind bars yourself. After all, this facility was under your charge. The Senate won’t look too kindly when they hear how you neglected your duties and chose to hide behind your favourite statue instead of doing your bit for the Republic you’ve sworn to serve.”

“Y-y-y-y-y-o-o-o” The Warden’s cheeks went even whiter as he stared at him bug-eyed. “You can’t! You haven’t any proof.”

“It’s my word against yours.” Jett bent so low over the man that he let out a small squeal. “Now, will you help me, or not?”

“I told you,” the Warden whimpered. “There’s nothing we can do from here.”

“Then we need to get the power generator back up and working.”

“But that’s on the other side of the complex! We’ll be killed before we get there.”

“You’re forgetting. You’ll be travelling with a Jedi Knight. Anyway, it’s not like you have much choice.” He grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and tossed him towards the door. “Show me the quickest route. And don’t think about grabbing a weapon. I will kill you before you get a chance to fire it.”

Sufficiently subdued, the Warden hurriedly led Jett out of his office and down another corridor from the one he’d taken.

He led Jett towards an all-access stairwell, one which must have only been known to him as it was well hidden behind a door that blended into the wall behind a nook. As they descended, no other door came into sight on any of the other floors. As if the snivelling coward couldn’t have got any worse in Jett’s eyes.

“The generator’s several more levels down,” the Warden said, voice echoing in the dim space. “But we’d have to pass through one of the cental panopticons before we can reach it, and it’s bound to be crawling with inmates.”

“Is there no way around it?”

“No.”

Jett exhaled loudly through his nostrils. “All right. Looks like we’ll have to risk it.”

“B-b-but… They’ll pounce on us as soon as we come through the blastdoors.”

“Trust me,” Jett responded. “They’ll be far from the scariest thing by the time I get in there.” Before he could allow time for the Warden to process this, he shoved him forward and he continued to lead them downwards. Silence and darkness pressed in on them, horribly oppressive as they went down, and down, and down. They ventured for so long that Jett was convinced that, soon enough, they’ll reach solitary confinement again, back where it all started. But then, the Warden halted beside another door, the first they’d come across since the administration level. Pressing his ear to it, the Human listened for a moment then nodded.

“I think the coast is clear.”

He pushed the door open slowly and quietly. Careful not to make a sound, Jett followed him through into a space even darker than the stairwell.

“This way.”

They tiptoed towards an orange flickering light at the far end of whatever room they’d found themselves in. Jett could smell something chemical and, as his eyes adjusted, he saw the shape of a hover gurney drifting in the darkness.

“We’re in the medical wing,” the Warden whispered. “Or what’s left of it.”

They passed cabinets and crates that had been stripped bare of their contents, the inmates no doubt taking whatever they needed when they raided the place. Jett kept his ears pricked and paid close attention to any ripples in the Force that might indicate danger. It was eerily quiet. Not even the groans or mutterings of any patients could be heard as they lay in the darkness forgotten.

The Warden let out a yell. Hairs standing on end, Jett activated his lightsabre quicker than thinking only to cast the light on a broken-down medical droid the Warden had mistaken for an inmate.

“They’re bound to hear us coming now with racket you just made,” he snarled.

But the Human, for once, chose to say nothing, finally leading Jett to the main entrance to the medical wing. The door was half-open and whatever lay beyond seemed to be the source of the flickering light. Only now he was closer did Jett realise that it seemed to be coming from an open flame somewhere out of sight. In the distance, he heard more alarm bells ringing, more shouts and screams, blaster fire. The panopticon was close by.

Lightsabre still lit, he and the Warden quickened their pace as they exited the medical wing. Several fires marked their passage before they turned a corner and were confronted with the sight of a crumpled blastdoor and the panopticon beyond. As the Warden had predicted, the place was crawling with inmates, many of whom were fighting guards and each other. The central control tower seemed to be the main focus of the chaos. A large crowd had gathered around it while others stood on the walkways surrounding it, cheering.

A familiar sting in the Force made Jett halt in his tracks, followed shortly by another. Without even hearing the hum of their lightsabres as they desperately fought off the marauding mass, Jett would’ve known it was Master Linn and Syldron that were drawing them all in.

“Kill them!” a deranged-looking Mirialan hooted from above. “Kill the Jedi!”

Few had become aware of Jett and the Warden’s arrival in their midst, but that was quickly changing as they all turned to face them, their faces lacking any kind of fear or caution. Before the Warden could run for it, Jett grabbed his arm and threw him forward.

“Go! Get the generator running. I’ll hold them off.”

Luckily, the feral inmates had only eyes for him as they leapt forward. He fended them off with ease, mostly using the Force to render them unconscious, despite his overwhelming urge to kill returning. How easy it would be to tear into this crowd just as he had torn into Qo’ra’s killer. But no. He must master his impulses. For now, at least. Right then, his objective was the keep the inmates from attacking the Warden and to help Master Linn and Syldron.

The Kel-Dor and the Twi’lek looked as battered and beaten as Jett felt. None of the guards who’d gone with them remained, meaning they were more likely dead as well. But what of the Human Jedi? He didn’t have time to think about that. All he could do was focus on the matter at hand.

“Master!”

Linn turned to face him, her green lightsabre humming and slashing as she fended off a large group of enemies.

“Jett! What are you—? Why aren’t you—?”

Despite her admonishing tone, Jett was glad to see she was alive and kicking as she sent a wave of the Force across another group of inmates, blasting them all high into the air before landing several feet away from them.

“No time to explain,” he said, deflecting back several blaster bolts at a Rodian who crumpled with a yelp. “We just need to fend them off long enough to—“

He howled with pain as someone landed on his back, claws sinking into his chest. He reached back and threw the rabid inmate off who snarled with anger as his body hit the duracrete floor. It was the Cathar who Jett had seen after entering the prison. Now without his food canister, the inmate lunged at Jett, swiping at him with claws sharper than razors. Jett dodged them just in time before picking the Cathar up with the Force and hurling him back against the control tower.

“There’s too many of them!” It was Syldron who had spoken. He sported a bloody lip and his tunic was torn, but otherwise, he seemed unhurt. His blue blade twirled as he used the Shii-Cho form of lightsabre combat to protect himself while harming as few prisoners as possible. “Master, we can’t hold them off.”

With despair once again weighing down on him, Jett knew the Twi’lek was right. The situation was hopeless. Though he had had time to recover from his altercation with the assassins back on the uppermost level, his reserves were once again dwindling and he could see by the sluggish movements of Master Linn and Syldron that they too were at the end of their strength.

Even if the Warden made it to the generator and successfully brought it back online, there was little chance they’d make it to the right control panel to subdue the prisoners. They needed a new plan. And fast.

“We need to get out of here,” Syldron said. “We need to get to the landing pad.”

“How?” Master Linn sounded desperate. “We’re outnumbered. They’ll only chase after us. Besides, the landing pad will be sealed off. There’s no escape.”

The horrible truth hit all three of them at once. It was them against hundreds, if not thousands, of angry, murderous beings intent on exacting revenge on those who’d imprisoned them. Master Linn was right. There was no way out.

“Then we’ll go out fighting,” Jett said. He raised his lightsabre before him. “May the Force be with us all.”

With grim determination, ready to meet their fates, they fought, and fought, and fought, but waves of opponents just kept on coming. All they could do now was wait until a stray blaster bolt or a slashing vibroblade cut them down.

And then, without warning, the lights came back on. There was a loud whirring and the inmates paused as the panopticon was flooded with the glare of floodlights. The crackle of an intercom sounded and a moment later the Warden’s voice spoke over the chaos, loud enough to quell the riot.

“This is a message to all the inmates,” he said. “Return to your cells at once or else I will be forced to detonate your biochips.”

Close by, a few of the inmates glanced at one another.

“Did he say ‘detonate’?”

“He’s bluffing!”

The Warden continued, “You have five minutes to comply. Anyone not in their cell after the expired time will be dealt with.”

Uncertainty rippled through the inmates.

“Can he do that?”

“He wouldn’t! These things can only shock you anyway.”

“And to give you a little persuasion,” the Warden said, “here’s a little taste.”

Suddenly, a chorus of pained shouts and cries rose all around them as the inmates fell to their knees, clutching their heads, mouths stretching, mandibles twitching in absolute agony. It lasted for a moment before it stopped.

“You think I keep the controls only in my office?” The Warden’s gloating was becoming much more apparent. “Think again! I always carry a spare with me wherever I go in case any of you—”

An explosion shook the panopticon as if Coruscant was in the grip of a terrible groundquake. Now frightened out of their wits, the inmates scattered, fleeing back to their cells as masonry and girders rained down on them. Most were lucky and managed to find shelter in their cells before they could come to harm. Some, however, were not so fortunate. A group of Gand were crushed under an enormous pile of rubble before they had a chance to get out of the way.

Jett sensed an enormous weight falling towards him, Master Linn and Syldron. Instinctively, all three raised their arms above their heads, using the Force to hold up the chinks of durasteel, duracrete and transparasteel that descended upon them. Another explosion sent more rubble flying down, and the control tower leaned over and crashed into a row of cells, utterly obliterating those who had been inside them.

A cloud of debris filled Jett’s lungs. He coughed, reminded vividly of the attack on the Senate the day before and he had a feeling this new delivery was far from isolated.

The roar of an engine deafened him as a great shadow of an airship blocked out the sunlight now pouring into the panopticon. Casting aside his load with a great effort, he swept away the curtain of smoke to reveal what was on the other side.

A drop ship hovered over the scene. Black-clad figures with white claws printed on their fronts were descending into the panopticon, firing on the inmates who hadn’t had a chance to find safety.

“Who are they?” Master Linn wondered as she too threw her burden aside. Syldron had another idea. Using the masonry he held above his head, he threw it towards the black-clad assassins. Seeing this, and avoiding the crude projectile just in time, they raised their rifles and fired. Syldron and Master Linn reactivated their blades and created a green and blue wave of plasma around them, deflecting bolt after bolt after bolt.

Then there was another roar, another explosion. The blaster fire of another gunship hit the aircraft hovering above them. The starboard side caught fire and it flew out of sight. Confused, the enemy looked up only to get a face full of blue blaster bolts as Republic troopers flew down from their gunship. There were far more of them than the enemy, and they made quick work of the black-clad Humans, clearing a space for the gunship to land.

Relief such as he had never felt in his life surged through Jett as he rushed forward to greet it. One of the side doors opened and Theron Shan appeared, blaster ready as, with a jerk of his head, he roared, “Come on!”

The Jedi did not need to be told twice. Doors clamping shut behind them, the gunship once more rose into the air, cleared the smoke, the fire and the roof of the prison before soaring back into the Coruscanti sky, making a beeline across the Works towards Galactic City.

Jett, Master Linn and Syldron were all made to sit and be examined by a medical droid. Jett’s cut on his arm was cleared up in no time thanks to a dose of kolto, but his bruises and multiple scratches and burns, as well as his broken ribs, were going to take much more time to heal. The med droids seemed more concerned over Master Linn whose arm had somehow broken during their narrow escape. Syldron’s injuries were entirely superficial and he was the first of them to stand.

“Agent!” He addressed Theron with an urgency that drew his attention at once. “It’s about time you intervened. I thought we were done for.”

Theron nodded. “Sorry we couldn’t come sooner. We lost all contact with the prison as soon as the first alarm went off. It took a lot of grovelling with General Garza to get her to lend me one of her garrisons. Looks like we arrived just in time.”

His eyes met Jett’s and a wry smile stretched over his boyish face. Jett tried to smile back but couldn’t.

“The enemy had the place surrounded,” he said. “Turns out this operation of theirs was even more planned out than their attack on the Senate. It seemed like they wanted to break out the inmates, and yet they were shooting at them. I can’t understand why.”

“It’s because they’re not Human,” Jett said in a dead, flat voice. He turned to Master Linn. “They’re called the White Claw. They had conspired with the prison personnel before the attack started. More than likely they persuaded their recruits to open the cells, to cause enough chaos that bringing the complex down on their heads would seem more justified.”

“Justified?” Theron looked perplexed. “I don’t understand.”

“They hate non-Human beings. They want to show the Republic how worse off it is in sharing it with aliens. Staging a prison riot then subduing it would win over the sympathy of every closeted xenophobic Human in the galaxy.”

Master Linn turned and spoke to him for the first time since boarding the gunship.

“And what do you have to base this on?”

“I met them. Outside the Warden’s office. They pretty much told me.”

He sensed her disapproval. “And they told you their entire plan?”

Despite being much smaller than he, Jett felt diminished by her enormous presence in the Force. He knew, also, that she had not forgotten the way he’d treated Zizen. The repercussions for that would come later. 

“Not exactly.”

Though she tried to hide it, Master Linn leant back in her seat as the pain in her broken arm flared.

“All we know,” she said, “is that they were present. The rest is pure speculation.”

Silence settled between them all as the gunship continued its journey back towards Senate Plaza. It was Syldron who broke it.

“Jett,” he said. “Where’s Qo’ra?”

The words were like a stun bolt to Jett’s chest. He said nothing but reached into a pocket at his belt and took hold of the cranial head decoration Qo’ra had given him. He took Syldron’s hand and placed the metal ornament in his scarred red palm.

Syldron stared at it, frowning slightly then looked into Jett’s face. Understanding grew in his bright blue eyes. A moment later, he fell onto his knees, head bent double over the ornament as though it were a trampled flower. 


	11. Fragments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The face of the enemy reveals itself at last and as the Jedi and Republic officials absorb the shock of the day's events, Jett consoles Syldron who is taking the loss of their fallen comrade very hard.

The debriefing room was crowded. Republic troopers stood guard around the circular table as Supreme Commander Jace Malcom, Generals Garza and Var Suhtra, Theron Shan, Master Linn, Syldron and Jett examined the holodisplays replaying the scenes from the prison riot again and again. The three Human Jedi who had been part of the original delegation would have been present too but, as Jett had learned upon arriving back at the rotunda, they had all perished in the prison riot. Though the loss had not wounded him as much as Qo’ra’s, Jett was nevertheless shaken. They had all been so young, little more than padawans. Worst of all, he hadn’t even bothered to learn their names.

“There is now no doubt that this was a coordinated attack.”

Theron was the one speaking. Despite being outranked by at least half of those present at the table, he stood with his back straight and his hands behind his back as though he were a fleet admiral, not just a mere spy. His fierce expression did an excellent job conveying to them all how grave the crisis had grown in the last few hours. He tapped a few buttons and the holo-footage was replaced by a global map of Coruscant. Arrows pointed to specific locations all across it, from the Fibosi district to the Works.

“Four separate locations have become victims to this terrorist group who are now calling themselves the ‘White Claw’.” He pressed a few more buttons, zooming in on where the far left arrow was pointing. “The first was a refugee camp for the non-Human natives of the Uphrades system. The explosion killed almost a hundred of them and more than fifty volunteers.” He pressed another button, showing the second and third coordinates. “The next targets were the Ryloth Embassy and the Iridonian Sector. Fewer were killed but the devastation has left craters in the duracrete and people running in panic. We had to get the troops in to restore order. And the final attack…”

He pressed one last button and the display zoomed in once more. Jett gasped.

“The Jedi Temple?” Master Linn sounded both perplexed and outraged. Though her right arm was in a sling, Jett saw her clench her fist within it. “What possible purpose could that be to them? The temple’s still a pile of rubble from the Sith’s invasion!”

“Your guess is as good as ours, Master Linn,” Theron said. “Our current theory is that they may have caught wind of a non-Human criminal cartel operating within proximity to the site. They might have even been using the temple itself as a meeting ground or secret headquarters.”

The possibility of gangs desecrating the temple ruin seemed to disgust Master Linn even more. “As if the Sith didn’t do enough damage. The thought of such beings defacing Jedi artefacts and stealing them to sell on the black market like cheap rugs at an open-air bazaar—” She took a deep breath and blew it out behind her breath mask. “Forgive me, Agent Shan. It has been a long day. Please, continue.”

“Each strike took place at roughly the same time,” Theron said as if there had been no interruption. “Almost to the minute. This goes to show that the White Claw, whoever they are, are spread all over Coruscant and are operating with almost military-like efficiency.”

“Incredible.” Var Suhtra was shaking his giant head, bulbous eyes wide with awe and disbelief. “I’ve never seen an insurgent group this organised. And yet, their attacks seem random, almost pointless. Why attack the Iridonian Sector? Despite its name, there are more Human citizens there than Zabraks.”

“That’s true, General,” Theron said. “On the surface.”

Pressing a few more controls, the display created a cross-section of the Iridonian district’s multiple levels above and below Galactic City.

“The majority of the population is below ground. The White Claw attacked the central sky tower just outside the old marketplace. I say that this was the most densely Zabrak populated area on the top-most level. More Zabraks were among the dead than Humans, at any rate.”

Beside him, Jett felt Syldron tense in his seat. All this talk of blowing up Zabraks had whipped up the storm of grief already raging inside him into a hurricane.

“So, then why not make the attack underground?”

The map reappeared Theron stroked his chin in thought.

“It’s not clear at this time,” he said. “But if you pay attention, you’ll notice all the attacks were on the surface level. It was almost as if they wanted to make their acts of violence as visible as they could, to make a point.”

“Because no one cares about the underlevels.”

Jett hadn’t meant to sound so jaded but he knew it was true. Explosions and gunfights were a regular occurrence on the city’s underlevels with gang violence being a way of life. An attack down there would go unnoticed, dismissed as another instance of Black Sun rubbing the Justicars up the wrong way.

No one spoke for a moment. That more than anything cemented his words as more than just a cynical theory.

“Anyway,” Theron went on, “at least this time the White Claw claimed responsibility for the attacks. They sent this message across all holo-channels.”

He tapped a button and the map vanished to be replaced by three figures — all life-sized blue ghosts that were mere representations of their real-life counterparts, but Jett could tell they all wore black and the lenses of their eyepieces were blood red.

“Humans of Coruscant,” the figure in the centre intoned. Though his voice was distorted to hide his identity, it was obvious he was male. “Hear our message! We are the White Claw. Too long have we let the alien disease fester among our precious Republic. It has penetrated the very fabric of this society, from the criminal underworld up to our very government, corrupting and polluting the minds of decent, hard-working Humans everywhere, doing everything they can to undermine our efforts for expansion, all to serve _their_ interests.

“As you might have gathered, we are responsible for all the attacks you have seen these past two days. This a demonstration not only of our might but to those in power who refuse to hear our voice and cave under the pressure of alien demands. All of the affordable homes on Coruscant are inaccessible to Humans. Why? Because they’re full of aliens. The average, hard-working Human who finds himself below the poverty line cannot get a job because all the positions are filled with droids… and aliens.

“Well, no more. No more should we have to witness a Human child starve because his ration is given to an alien. No more should Human mothers have to worry about her children being forced to mix with Bothan cubs. No more should we have to cower in fear while alien criminals from Nar Shaddaa raid our homes and harm our loved ones as the authorities turn a blind eye.

“And now, Chancellor Saresh, we speak directly to you. We can no longer tolerate an alien in a chancellorship than we can share their dietary needs. Your incompetent leadership has led the Republic down the road to ruin. We are giving you one rotation to resign from your position. If you refuse, there will be consequences. You have our word on that.”

In unison, the black-clad Humans raised their hands in a kind-of salute and chanted, “Human might!” before the recording fizzled away.

“This is insane.”

Jett’s voice broke the awful silence but his voice sounded feeble, unable to express the gravity of what they had just heard.

“Surely,” Master Linn said, “the Chancellor cannot possibly surrender to these demands. She’s been made aware of them, I assume?”

“We sent her the transmission as soon as it was broadcasted,” General Garza said. “She’s on her way back from Taris as we speak.”

“In the meantime,” Var Suthra added, “we’ve enforced a temporary curfew and rolled out an entire legion of troopers to patrol the city. Havoc Squad is, sadly, unavailable for the time being but Major Senshii assures me he will help out any way he can.”

“You’ve imposed martial law?” Jett got to his feet, wincing at the broken ribs that were still on the mend despite an intense bacta session once they had arrived back from the prison. “Without consulting the Senate?”

“There was no time to draw a vote,” Var Suthra bristled. “By the time we had gathered all the senators in the rotunda and debated the issue, the White Claw would’ve blown Galactic City to kingdom come.”

Jett was about to argue but one look and a small head-shake from Master Linn stopped him. He glanced at Theron whose worried frown told him he was no happier about the situation than he was. Imposing martial law in such an autocratic way undermined the entire concept of democracy. How long was the Republic military going to prolong the curfew? It could be days, even weeks before the White Claw could be brought to justice. What sort of state would Courascant be in then? What would separate it from the average world found in the Sith Empire, whose militia patrolled city streets as a matter of course? Jett had fought enough Imps to know that they would justify their actions with almost the same words as Var Suthra — to maintain peace and order. All for the small price of freedom.

“In the meantime,” Jace Malcom cut in, “we are doing all we can to root out the White Claw, to find out who’s leading them and how we can dismantle their operations.”

With that, the meeting was adjourned. Syldron was the first to stand. He brushed past Jett and headed out the door so quickly that he could have been moving on wheels. Master Linn saw him go too. She turned to Jett with something between sternness and pity on her Kel-Dor features. Before she could say anything, he followed the Twi’lek into the corridor and then out onto a balcony.

Syldron leant against a pillar, his shoulders shaking with the anguish he’d been spending all that day trying to suppress. Now, out of sight of Master Linn and the Republic generals, he could allow himself that luxury.

Jett hung back a little while, letting Syldron have his moment. When his sobbing had subsided, he felt it finally safe to approach and place a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Syldron turned, his scarred red face streaked with tears. In his hand, he clutched the horn decoration that had often hung across Qo’ra’s forehead.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” He spoke more to himself than to Jett, unable to take his eye of the golden ornament. “It’s just so strange to think that, this morning, I talked to her, had breakfast with her, and now—” He swallowed and sniffed. “I didn’t even feel it, Jett. They say you’re supposed to feel them go once they— I didn’t feel a thing.”

Jett placed his other hand on Syldron’s other shoulder.

“We were all a little busy at the time,” he said.

He couldn’t think of anything else _to_ say. He had never consoled a grieving person before, let alone a grieving Jedi. He tried to think what Master Linn would say, then disregarded it. She would only spout some empty platitude about Qo’ra now being one with the Force. Had he lived on Cathar beyond his cubhood, he might have been able to draw from that. It worried him how large a gap he had in his knowledge of his own people and how they handled death.

“If it helps,” he said at last. “She went out fighting.”

This neither seemed to anger nor comfort Syldron. He just went on staring numbly at the trinket between his fingertips.

“It was my fault,” Jett said. “Had I been quicker, she might still be here with us.”

It was an uncomfortable truth he’d been sat with all afternoon. Now it was out in the open, he was frustrated to realise that this did not loosen the tight knot that had wrapped around his chest. Perhaps because he hadn’t told Syldron the whole truth — about how he lost control, how he let his _rakktarr_ take over that resulted in the perfect distraction for her assassin to strike the killing blow.

And how he had let it take him. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still hear the wet tearing of those Human bodies as he ripped them apart, smell their rancid blood which covered him head-to-foot, feel their dying breaths as they writhed beneath his animal weight. Though he had long washed the dirt, the grime, and the blood out of his fur, he still imagined it hadn’t left him at all and if he were to look at his palms right then, they would be stained crimson.

_My blood. Human blood. Qo’ra’s blood._

“I don’t believe that,” Syldron said matter-of-factly. “I know you, Jett. You would’ve done everything you could to save her.”

Would he still be saying that if he had been with them? Jett didn’t dare contradict him. Instead, made a vague attempt at a comforting smile.

“She said something to me,” he said. “Before she passed, I mean. She said, ‘Tell Syldron’.”

The Twi’lek frowned. “Tell me what?” Then he figured it out. “You knew about us.”

Jett nodded. As if suddenly wary of his touch, Syldron stood back a little and turned back to the view. There was perhaps less sky traffic than usual, but aside from that everything was as peaceful as it usually was. No hint of the curfew or the state-sanctioned troops could be seen. At least, not from this high up.

“I never realised it was so obvious.”

Syldron spoke to the night, his lekku twitching.

“It wasn’t,” Jett replied. “I just sort of knew.”

“How?”

“The way you smiled at her when she entered a room. The way your eyes glimmered when she sat close to you. The way the two of you worked together in combat as if you’ve spent hours training together in secret. You might have been able to cloak your Force bond from the rest of us, but, forgive me, love can run so deep that there are signs not even a Jedi Master can hide.”

“You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.”

Jett felt his heart leap, his thoughts flashing to Theron and how they’d spent long, intimate moments enfolded in each other’s arms.

“Do I?” He shrugged in an awkward manner which made him glad Syldron had his back to him. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

He hoped the Twi’lek couldn’t sense his own feelings before he had a chance to suppress them. Fortunately, Syldron appeared too preoccupied to notice. After a long moment of silence, he turned back to Jett, his expression pained.

“Please don’t tell Master Linn,” he said. “I know Qo’ra and I should never have grown as close as we had. But we couldn’t help ourselves. It just felt so… _right_.”

Jett knew precisely what he meant.

“Of course I won’t,” he said, his smile coming much easier this time. “I would never tell Master Linn or anyone else if you don’t want me to.”

Syldron put a hand to his chest, grateful.

“Thank you, Jett. I appreciate that. It may come out eventually but for now, I don’t think I could handle expulsion from the Order and her passing all at once. Maybe when I’m a little older. A little wiser.” He sighed. “It doesn’t help that I am struggling with some… dark thoughts.”

“How do you mean?”

Syldron’s metal fingers clutched the horn decoration so hard Jett thought he intended to crush it.

“Master Linn has often spoken how attachment, loss and revenge all lead to the Dark Side. It inspires emotions that intend harm onto other beings which goes against the very foundation of the Jedi Code. That is why we must temper ourselves, to be mindful of our feelings, let go of hate and passion, and embrace serenity. For years, I believed in everything she ever said. Until today.”

His blue eyes flashed as he tilted his head to the sky.

“I have thought of nothing but bringing about bloody vengeance upon the beings who killed her. I want nothing but for them to suffer as they had made me suffer. This pain I feel, I want them to feel it too. And no matter how many times I recite the code or quietly meditate to try and let go, I can’t. I can’t let go. All that preaching about tempering oneself, to reign in one’s baser nature, it’s all a fallacy. I have rigidly adhered to it my entire life and all I can do now is fantasise about spearing those White Claw scumbags with my lightsabre. It isn’t fair. Why did she have to die?”

Face crumbling, Syldron hid it in his hands as he sank against the pillar and down onto his knees. Jett gazed at him pityingly, his friend’s grief joining his own in a duet of despair. At the same time, he could not but help feeling relieved — relieved because he was not the only Jedi to feel what Syldron was feeling. He, too, wanted justice for Qo’ra. He wanted to end the White Claw and their penchant for spreading suffering. And what if it had been Theron who had died? Would he not have already cast aside his Jedi garb and thrown himself into the underbelly of Coruscant, intent on hunting down those responsible for all this misery?

He bent down and slowly pried Syldron’s hands apart.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice gruff as he held the Twi’lek’s head in both hands. “We _can_ avenge Qo’ra. More than that, we should.”

Even after all he had said, decades of Jedi doctrine caused Syldron to look doubtful. He bit his lip.

“I don’t think—”

“What? That you can do it? Then let me ask you one question. Did you love her?” At his nod, Jett added, “And do you still love her?”

“Yes,” Syldron whispered his reply in an agony of sorrow. “But I don’t know if I can, Jett. What will I become if I allow myself to go down that path?”

Jett moved his hands to his shoulders. “I can’t answer that for you. All I know is that we need to bring Qo’ra’s murderers to justice. The White Claw must pay for what they’ve done.” _And maybe_ , he thought, _eliminating them can wash me of this knife-wound guilt._ “Meet me in my quarters in one hour. Dress as a civilian but remember to bring your lightsabre. All right?”

Syldron gazed at Jett for a long while. Then, with new resolve settling onto his face, he nodded.


	12. Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking comfort, Jett and Theron have a heart-to-heart while trying to decide the future of their blossoming relationship, a discussion that is concluded with actions rather than words. 
> 
> **WARNING: This chapter contains scenes that are sexually explicit.**

Even as Jett left Syldron alone to handle his grief, he wondered if pushing the Twi’lek into defying Master Linn and the Republic generals was a good idea. How would they even begin hunting down the White Claw? They would have to sneak out of the Senate Tower which would be crawling with guards and somehow make it out onto the streets where troopers armed to the teeth marched back and forth.

This was a dangerous game, one he had been taught all his life that he should avoid. As a Jedi, he must learn to master his baser desires, to consider the needs of the many over the self. At the same time, he knew deep in his bones that letting the White Claw run amock across Coruscant when they could strike again at any moment was a serious miscarriage of justice. All those deaths, all those non-Humans who had suffered under the wrath of maniacs. It could not be allowed to continue. Whatever Master Linn said about consulting the Council or allowing the military to do its job, it was his duty, both as a Jedi, and a citizen of the Republic, to bring an end to it sooner rather than later.

A sudden whiff of muja fruit wafted up his nose. He stopped, his loins stirring with the same intensity as the day before. Along with it came a flush of relief and pleasure.

_Theron_.

He was nearby. In fact, if Jett listened, he thought he could hear him talking somewhere around the corner. He started walking again when two more scents smacked him in the face, both of which were far less welcome. He rounded the corner and saw with no surprise Theron with Master Linn and Supreme Commander Jace Malcom standing in the middle of the corridor. They seemed to be having a heated discussion in hushed undertones.

“I won’t be a part of this,” Theron was saying. “I don’t care about what your precious Council says, the SIS is not at the beck and call of the Jedi.”

“But these are exceptional circumstances,” Master Linn hissed back. “In refusing to cooperate, you’re only helping in delaying our efforts. Besides…” Her tone softened. “Satele requested you specifically.”

Theron folded his arms. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Look, I know your relationship with her is difficult. But she is the Grandmaster, and not without reason.”

Oddly, Theron smiled at this as if Master Linn had told an amusing anecdote. He turned to Jace Malcom.

“And what do you think, Supreme Commander? Should I bow to the Grandmaster even though what she’s asking is tantamount to tyranny?”

Malcom’s scarred face creased in a look of beseechment.

“Theron,” he said. “Please.”

The familiarity in his tone took Jett by surprise. He addressed every other member of the SIS by their rank, never by their first name.

All at once, they seemed to register that he was there. The Supreme Commander straightened and cleared his throat. Master Linn brushed an imaginary thread from her robes. Theron, however, gave Jett a delighted smile.

“Sorry,” Jett said, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Theron responded, making Master Linn scowl at him. “In fact, this conversation is over.”

With a nod at Jett and a cursory stiff bow to Master Linn, he pushed past the Supreme Commander and marched away up the corridor. Losing composure once again, Malcom went after him, leaving the two Jedi alone.

“What was that about?”

Master Linn ignored the question. “How are you holding up, Jett?”

He brushed the bandaged wrapped around his arm. “Fine. Ribs are still sore, but nothing a few hours of meditation won’t sort out.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Her words were gentle and all at once, the hardened diplomat was replaced by the wise and comforting master he’d come to know so well. “Today has been, to say the least, rather taxing on us all.” She paced the width of the corridor. “I can only imagine the mental toll it is taking on you and Syldron, the loss of Qo’ra and the others. I will not lie, it has been difficult, even for myself. She was my old apprentice, you know. But as much as her passing pains us, we must not allow our feelings to cloud our judgement.”

It was extremely difficult to bite back what Jett wanted to say.

_Cloud my judgement? My mind has never been clearer. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Master Linn? After all, who have you ever truly cared about other than your precious Jedi doctrine? You’ve never known what it’s like to suffer._

Instead, he inclined his head and muttered, “Yes, Master.”

She examined him for a moment.

“Jett. Is there something you should tell me?”

He did his best to hide his reaction. Had she caught onto his intentions that quickly? How could he have been so sloppy?

“I felt how much anger there was when you confronted Zizen,” she said. “For a moment, I thought you were going to kill him. It was most unlike you. Tell me. Is there something going on I should know about?”

His mind once again filled with thoughts of Theron.

“No, Master,” he said. “There is nothing.”

Though Kel-Dors couldn’t exactly smile, he thought he caught a twitch of amusement in her facial muscles.

“I know Cathars are a hot-blooded species,” she said. “And I know you have certain, shall we say, biological needs which other species do not quite understand. I spent thirty years working alongside one of the eldest Cathar Masters in the Order and even he had trouble with his nature from time to time. However, I believe you can master it, just like he did.”

Curiosity eclipsed his embarrassment.

“How?” Jett asked. “How did he master it?”

“He never told me. It was, after all, quite personal. But I can ask him to speak to you if you like.”

Jett nodded. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

She moved forward and laid her uninjured hand on his upper arm. “I think you should rest. We’ll regroup in the morning. Sleep well, young Jett.”

As she moved away, he raced up the corridor in the direction Theron had gone, feeling as though he’d been wrung dry. Oftentimes he felt like this whenever he received unsolicited counsel from a master, but never quite as much as he did now. It was as if Master Linn had stripped him bare to expose his very soul. But his ill feelings towards her had somewhat diminished. She truly was a wise Jedi. Now more than before, he was regretting this secret path of vengeance.

_Justice_ , he told himself. _Not vengeance. That’s Jedi talk. For once in your life, think like a real person._

His thoughts were broken by the sound of angry voices up ahead. Picking up the pace, he hid behind a holo-bust as he listened to Jace Malcom gave Theron what sounded like an impassioned plea.

“I feel like you don’t _see_ me,” he was saying. “More than that, I feel like you don’t want to see me, as if you’d rather pretend I was someone else

“You’re right,” Theron snarled back. “At times, I wish you were.”

Alarmed as Jett was at Jace Malcom’s candidness before, it was nothing compared to how Theron was responding to him now.

“You don’t mean that,” Malcom said, though his deep voice was full of hurt.

“Oh, I do. I often wonder whether I was better off not knowing. It would certainly make disobeying your orders a lot easier.”

“Theron—!”

“That’s Agent Shan, to you.”

“Listen, I get it. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distance yourself from me which is why you’re acting out like this. I understand. I would probably do the same in your shoes.”

“Would you?” Theron let out a short, harsh laugh. “That’s good to know.”

“I like to think,” the Supreme Commander said and Jett could hear the smile in his voice, “that we are a lot alike.”

“Stop pretending you know me. You don’t, all right? You missed your chance. I grew up away from you and Satele, and as far as I’m concerned that was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

An unthinkable suspicion wormed its way into Jett’s mind.

“I would have come and got you,” Jace Malcom said. “I would’ve raised you all on my own if Satele hadn’t kept your existence a secret from me. Blame her for this, not me!”

“Oh, trust me, I do. But the fact remains, Supreme Commander, that although we share blood, you are only my commanding officer. Nothing more. The time has long gone where we could go feed greenbeaks together in the park or bond over fixing speeder engines. You might want to get to know me, but I do not want to get to know you. I think I’ve made that perfectly clear before now. Master Ngani Zho was my real father. That is never going to change.”

With that, Theron turned and stormed up a flight of stairs. Jace Malcom remained where he was, back resting against the wall. Jett couldn’t see his face clearly but even a non-Force user could pick up the remorse that exuded from him. It was very similar to the emotions Syldron radiated out on the balcony.

Jett wanted to go after Theron, but neither did he want to walk past the Supreme Commander amid such a private moment. But Malcom showed no sign of moving, leaving Jett with no other choice than to reveal himself.

The moment he saw him, Malcom immediately stood erect.

“Master Jedi,” he said, voice forcibly gruff.

Jett acknowledged the greeting with a nod, pretending not to smell the man’s nervous sweat.

“Supreme Commander.”

He half-expected one of Malcom’s heavily muscled arms to fly out and block his path. But nothing happened. Malcom merely nodded back and, hands clasped behind him in his usual military posture, moved away. Jett tried hard not to stare after him but now he knew the truth, he could see more clearly than ever before the resemblance the man bore to Theron.

Hurrying up the stairs, Jett hoped to catch up with him; he felt they had some unfinished to discuss, business that had nothing at all to do with the White Claw. But, clearing the top step, he couldn’t see him anywhere. Gloom settling over his mind, he decided to turn in. But to his surprise, and subsequent delight, Theron was standing outside the door to his quarters. The SIS agent had folded his arms and was glaring at the floor as if he could see something in it that angered him. Once Jett appeared, however, he glanced up and smiled. The sight of it sent thrills down his back. 

“I wondered if I got the right door,” Theron said. His face grew serious. “Can we talk?”

Jett was alarmed to see the redness in Theron’s eyes. His Force aura, too, was like that of a lost and frightened child in need of comfort.

Wordlessly, he opened the door and gestured for Theron to head in. It wasn’t a large space, nowhere near as furnished and luscious as Theron’s own apartment, but it was spare and comfortable, not much worse than a spaceport hotel room. Theron immediately went to the middle of the room and stood there, clutching his arm as if he were injured. Now he was feeling embarrassed, almost remorseful.

“Listen,” he said as Jett sat down on the edge of the double bed. “I just want you to know that I understand your position and won’t stop you.”

Perplexed, Jett leaned forward and asked, “Stop me? From doing what?”

Theron’s remorse burned its way to humiliation.

“From seeing me again, I guess. Like last night. In fact, I should know better than to get involved with a Jedi. Hell, my own damn parents—” He swallowed. “Thing is, I’m a mess. You don’t want to get involved with me. My world… It’s complicated. Living as an agent has its downsides and has you almost as a chaste as the Jedi claim to be. You might want to chase a thrill now and then, but it’s never personal, never anything permanent. In a way, it makes you feel lonelier than being by yourself. But we do have needs, after all.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stang, I’m messing this up so bad. Point is, I think we should keep things strictly professional. I don’t _want_ to, but it obviously makes you uncomfortable and the last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable. That’s all.”

Jett absorbed this with a growing sense of disappointment. He had imagined this sort of conversation would throw water over the fires of his _rakktarr_. Instead, it fanned the flames higher. He wanted to take Theron here, now, on this very bed. He didn’t care that they were in the Senate with Master Linn sleeping just down the hall. All that mattered was filling this Theron-shaped void inside of him.

At the same time, he understood the need for distance. They could not get too involved with one another. Regardless of their duties, they had other things to worry about, largely the safety of the very civilisation they had sworn to serve.

Even so, the thought of pushing Theron away was unbearable to him, like cutting off a limb. Sure, he could use prosthetics, but that was a mere artificial replacement — it would never bring back his missing arm or leg. Not truly.

“I’ve done bad things,” Theron went on, sensing Jett’s hesitancy. “A lot of bad things. Being in the SIS makes it hard to keep a clear conscience. Although I try to do what’s right, sometimes it’s unavoidable.”

Jett finally unstuck his tongue.

“You and Master Linn,” he said. “I take it what she asked you to do wouldn’t have rested easily on your conscience.”

Theron folded his arms again. “She was trying to get me to officially endorse the military’s efforts to maintain martial law. Normally, that would be the director’s job, but since he’s out of commission after being caught up in that explosion yesterday, I was the only one with the authority to do so. I’m sure I’ll get a lot of flack from my fellow agents over it, but I don’t care. What they’re doing makes a mockery of the very thing we’re fighting for. I’ve seen what life is like in the Sith Empire. I never thought I would see it in the Republic.”

Now Jett was beginning to understand why Theron was so angry at Jace Malcom. The Supreme Commander had doubtless sanctioned the order to put Coruscant under martial law, something which would be hard for Theron to accept in any case, but seeing as Malcom was his father…

“I imagine they’ll wangle me into doing it in any case,” Theron said. “But it feels good to refuse them. Having said that, it doesn’t exactly wash the red from my ledger. There were plenty of other bad things I’ve done which, in hindsight, I could have and should have refused.”

He bowed his head for a moment, the small yellow light on his implant flashing periodically. Jett reached forward and took his hand, rubbing it with his broad thumb

“I’ve done bad things too.”

Theron looked up but didn’t say anything.

“Earlier today,” Jett continued, “outside the Warden’s office, something happened which is making me wonder if I’m still fit to even call myself a Jedi.” He described everything that had happened, from the long and brutal engagement with the White Claw assassins to Qo’ra’s untimely demise to the blood-filled rage that had taken over him and the carnage ensued. In the telling, he expected Theron to draw away from him, perhaps even run out of the room. Instead, he only grew closer, eventually sitting beside Jett, his face filled with nothing but sympathy.

“I just lost control,” Jett finished, at last, eyes fixed on the rug between the nightstand and the wardrobe. “I’ve never experienced anything like it before. I tore them limb from limb until their bodies stopped twitching. But do you know what the worst thing was?” He swallowed, hesitant even now to confess the real truth of the matter. He turned his eyes towards Theron’s. “I _enjoyed_ it. Once I got a taste, all I wanted to do was scour the rest of the prison and tear out the throats of every inmate. It was only Qo’ra that stopped it.” Eyes stinging, he turned away again, unable to hide his shame. “You think I should stay away from you but, if anything, you should stay away from me. No other Cathar has done anything like this. I’m a monster, Theron. A beast.”

Theron’s gloved hand found Jett’s chin. He turned his face towards him, a soft expression warming his features.

“You’re not a monster, Jett. We might have only met yesterday, but I feel like I know you.” He frowned slightly, trying to work it out. “Almost as if we’ve been together our whole lives.”

Jett pushed his hands away.

“What if I hurt you?” he demanded. “What if I lost control again and you got in the way? I would never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you, let alone if I did it myself.”

Theron put both hands on Jett’s cheeks and pressed his forehead against his own.

“You’ll never hurt me, Jett,” he said. “I believe that with all my heart.”

“Theron, I— I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I want us to be together. Believe me, I do. But we can’t. Not because I’m a Jedi but because I know there’s something wrong with me and I don’t know how to get rid of it.”

Theron’s face softened further. His muja fruit scent was all Jett could smell. It filled every pore until all he could remember ever doing in his life was sitting on top of that crate, eating through its juicy delicious skin as the sun’s warm fingers caressed his fur and the gentle breeze brushed against the grass of the savannah.

“That’s funny,” Theron said with a crooked, boyish smile. “Because I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

His warmth enveloped Jett as their lips met once again. It was just as wonderful, if not more so than the previous evening. Everything fell away until it felt as though they were the only two in the whole galaxy. Theron’s fingers groped at the clasp of Jett’s tunic. It sprung free and fell away, revealing the mass of dark blue fur that coated Jett’s entire body. Feeling Theron’s fingers run through it drove Jett wild. Kissing him more fiercely, he ripped off Theron’s red jacket, then his boots, his gloves, his trousers, then at last his sweatshirt. Soon he was in nothing more than his underwear, which did little to hide his bulge or the voluptuous curves of his buttocks.

He climbed onto Jett and they fell back together into the softness of the mattress, arms wrapped tightly over each other’s bodies. Long, splendid minutes passed in which the two of them spent with their mouths pressed together. Only after a significant number of these minutes transpired did Theron break away to simply gaze at Jett and say, “Make love to me.”

Jett was more than willing. He banished the remaining tunic which had been restricting his movements, allowing his bare legs to slide easily across the mattress as he bore over Theron. His inner heat had become a conflagration. The only way to quell it was to put his throbbing member into the man that lay beneath him.

“I’ll try not to hurt you,” he whispered.

Theron chuckled. “I’ll let you know if you touch anything vital. Besides,” he added, after a slight pause. “If the whole galaxy as we know it is going to end, I want to spend those final moments of it with you.”

“It won’t end,” Jett responded automatically, drawing closer to him.

“I hope you’re right.”

Within minutes, both had banished their clothing in favour of utter nakedness. Jett knew he had to make it quick; Syldron could arrive at any moment. Yet he felt no desire to rush this. He savoured every kiss he lay on Theron’s skin as he worked slowly from his lower stomach up into space between his neck and shoulder. Beneath him, Theron sighed and snaked his arms around his broad shoulders.

“I wish this could last,” he said with melancholy.

Jett drew back and ran a finger along his jawbone. “We’ll make it last. As long as we need to.”

There was little foreplay this time around. The two of them lay, tweaking each other’s nipples, kissing one another’s sensitive spots, exploring each other with their hands and mouths as they basked in the glory of their love-making.

Soon, Theron was climbing on top of Jett once again, eager to ride his pulsing erection just as he had the night before.

“No,” Jett said, grabbing his wrist. “Upright. Against the wall.”

Surprise melting into excitement, Theron jumped off the bed and pressed his arms against a wall, sure to stick his lower half out far enough for Jett to take him. With an approving growl, Jett did so, not just entering him but lifting him off the ground. The sight of his scratch marks no longer seemed to bother Jett. In fact, they seemed to whisper promises of better to come.

“Oh, stars!” Theron was faint with ecstasy. “Please, Jett. Don’t stop!”

He had no intention to. With every thrust, he buried himself deeper and deeper inside Theron, wanting to merge his being with his own, until the two of them were one.

_Are we not already?_ a voice deep inside him asked. _Has this not already proven the two of you are meant to be?_

Yes. The two of them belonged together. He realised that now. Who else would be able to make the horrors of that day melt away from his memory with just a touch? Who else would make his duties as a Jedi, servant of the Republic, seem trivial and arbitrary? Only Theron Shan — the most wonderful Human in all the universe, who knew suffering and estrangement, who was strong enough to fight off the loneliness and rejection that entailed. But he didn’t have to be alone anymore. Jett could be there for him.

With these thoughts, a realisation floated from the deeper, wilder part of his subconscious and into his waking thoughts.

_Is he meant to be my mate?_

As his hands ran along Theron’s skin and the two of them ground together to deepen their bond, something about it seemed so natural, so _essential_ that he could no longer imagine a life without it.

“Finish inside me again,” Theron begged. “When you did it to me last night… I loved it. Every second. I want to feel it again.”

He had timed it well; Jett was close to finishing in any case.

“Your wish is my command,” he purred.

“Is that going to be your catchphrase?”

“Yeah. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. Because it’s sexy as hell. Grant my wish, your majesty.”

Jett smiled. “I am your king. I rule you as part of my pride, as was the way of my ancestors.” His claws were out again. They dug into Theron’s flesh but did not pierce it.

“Yes.” Theron’s wanton sigh nearly made him explode right then and there. “Let me be! I want to be. I love you, Jett.”

The words were like water splashing on his parched tongue. Revitalising and utterly pure. They acted as the trigger for Jett to once again plant his seed deep inside him. It was, if possible, even better than the night before. But the loving moments spent entwined in each other’s arms could not last, much to his disappointment. They had to get moving. They needed to get ready for their mission.

“I’ll keep it all inside for as long as I can,” Theron said proudly as he pulled up his trousers. As Jett wrapped his arms around him from behind, he reached up and stroked his chin. “Always want a piece of you with me wherever I go.”

Jett playfully nipped at his ear which made him laugh.

“Good,” he said. “That way you know who you’ll belong to.”

Theron twisted around and kissed him full on the lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now get dressed, Mister. We have to take down a crazy cult.”


	13. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jett, Theron and Syldron enact their plan to find the White Claw by travelling to a nightclub on the underlevels, but getting there proves to be far more difficult than any of them expect.

Syldron knocked on the door shortly after. Jett opened it, allowing the Twi’lek inside who, as Jett had requested, was dressed in nondescript civilian garments — a brown tunic with a blue neck scarf and traveller’s boots. Jett himself had forgone his Jedi robes and now donned a thigh-length coat over a jersey and brown britches. It was the sort of thing a smuggler might wear but was still anonymous enough for him to blend in anywhere on the planet.

“Do you have your lightsabre?” 

Syldron nodded, pulling up his upper tunic to reveal it clipped to his side.

“How about you?”

Jett pulled back his greatcoat to show his hilt lying in a kind-of holster where one might expect him to be carrying a blaster. Theron, meanwhile, was dressed in his usual outfit, red jacket and all, both blasters at each hip. Syldron seemed surprised to see him there but didn’t say anything. Jett was grateful; though he was in no doubt Syldron would have a problem with knowing about him and Theron, given their candid conversation an hour ago, it would’ve taken too long to explain.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Syldron sounded uneasy, but having discussed what they were going to do to with Theron, Jett was confident the Twi’lek would be on board.

“We’re going down to the underlevels,” Theron answered, pulling on his gloves. “Specifically into Black Sun territory.”

Syldron stared. “We’re going to get help from Black Sun?”

“Not quite. But we are going to visit a place a lot of Black Sun visit. It’s a nightclub called The Neutron Star. I have a contact there who may get us the help we need. His name’s Daggonath. He’s a pirate who works for one of the most successful pirate fleets in the galaxy.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Syldron put his hands on his hips. “We’re going into the territory of one of the deadliest crime syndicates this side of the Tingle Arm so we can get help from a pirate?”

“Yep.”

“But— That’s suicide! We’ll be cut down the moment we go near it, if not by Black Sun then by all the Republic forces currently out there in droves.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jett said and he noticed Theron smile as he spoke. “Yes, we might have an issue getting past Republic troopers, but that will only be on the surface level. No troopers have dared go into the undercity for fear of a mass uprising. Gang warfare is already at an all-time high that invading it for the sake of this curfew would create a civil war on Coruscant. Besides, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, it’s probably safer in Black Sun territory right now than it is anywhere else on the planet. They’re allied with White Claw, which means they’ll be spared from any attacks.”

Syldron considered this then nodded.

“How do we even get down there, though? Won’t there be checkpoints?”

“We’ll take my speeder,” Theron said. “Being in the SIS has it’s privileged. Any vehicle under my name is exempt from any security checks.”

“What if tonight they decide to ignore that?”

“We’ll tailgate any vehicle big enough to cover us. A large public transport maybe, or a containment shuttle. It’s a crude method but it should work.”

“Won’t they have scanners?”

“Almost certainly. But if we hide long enough just to get through the gate, we can hightail it into the undercity before they catch us. Don’t worry. This isn’t the first time I’ve evaded security forces. It’s kind of part of my job.”

“Okay.” Syldron seemed more relaxed but was still a little wary. “I’m still not keen on this pirate you mentioned. What if he betrays us? What if he’s secretly thrown in his lot with the White Claw?”

“Trust me,” Theron said. “That won’t be a problem. He may be a pirate, but he’s very much on our side. Besides, it’s who he represents that matters.”

“Who does he represent?”

“You may have heard of him. His name is Naru’chev. He was a former Jedi.”

Now Syldron looked scandalised. “ _Narzu’chev_?” 

Jett, who hadn’t heard this part of the plan yet, asked, “Who’s Narzu’cchev?”

Syldron’s surprise was so great that he felt almost ashamed for not knowing.

“He’s a traitor, Jett! He abandoned the Order so he could ally with criminals. We all thought he was dead until his ship was spotted along the Hydian Way by the _Crusader_ , ready to ambush it.” He turned his scowl on Theron. “And _you_ want to ask for his help?”

“There’s no one I know more capable of helping us bring down the White Claw,” Theron said. “Besides, he may be an outlaw but he and his crew fight the Empire in their own way. They attack slave vessels, allowing the captives to either go free or to join his crew. They attack Imperial outposts without warning, capture their supplies and weaponry to either add to their arsenal or throw into the core of the nearest star. Guerilla tactics, for sure, but Narzu’chev has never abandoned his moral compass. Indeed, he’s been known to attack other pirate fleets if they ever harm innocent vessels. He has no love for the Empire and I’m sure he finds the White Claw just as contemptible. I mean, he should do in any case, given that he’s a Twi’lek.”

Syldron folded his arms. He still seemed unhappy.

“I can’t trust anyone who abandons the Jedi,” he said.

“Isn’t that what we’re about to do?” Jett asked. “Listen, if you’re having second thoughts and want to go back to bed, we won’t stop you. But I thought you wanted justice for Qo’ra’s death. Is that still not the case?”

Pain flared in Syldron’s eyes, making Jett sorry he had to mention Qo’ra. But, in truth, an SIS agent with two Jedi was better than one, and they were running out of time. 

“All right,” Syldron said at last. “Let us go at once.”

Leaving Jett’s quarters behind, they crept down the hallway towards the staircase. Despite the enforced security around the Senate Tower, it was eerily quiet and the only moving thing they ran into was a sweeper droid busily going about its business of dusting the carpet, paying them not even the slightest bit attention. Just when Jett dared hope that slipping out may be easier than they thought, he stopped and drew the other two back around a corner. Up ahead, two troopers stood guard at the top of the stairwell, talking among themselves.

“You know, I heard they’re going to release the F-series next month.”

“Get out! Have they announced it already?”

Jett raised a hand to perform a mind trick but Theron beat him to it. Tapping his implant, he whispered “Toxicity One,” and, placing a gauntlet on his right wrist, aimed it at the two troopers. There was small _ffft_ and both guards collapsed onto the floor.

“That’ll put them out for a couple of hours,” he said. “I just hope I don’t have to use my entire supply before we even reach my speeder.”

“Where is it parked?” Jett asked.

“On the landing pad in the east wing. There’ll be more of troopers the closer we get so be on your guard.”

He was certainly right about that. For the next several minutes, they ran through empty corridors, but by the time they reached the right level in the east wing, it made progress much slower. Theron dare not use his darts again in fear of raising the alarm so they strategically hid behind nooks and niches, waiting for patrolling guards to march past them before continuing. Their closest call came when they were close to the landing pad. A guard emerged from a room up ahead and turned to walk in their direction. Jett hid them all just in time behind a tapestry that he hoped didn’t bulge out too much and give them away. By the time the trooper had walked past, his whistling fading down the corridor, they crept back out and hurried on to their destination.

But getting onto the landing pad wasn’t going to be that simple. Two more troopers, both of whom appeared much more vigilant than their comrades, stood guard at the main entrance. There was also a ray shield blocking the way.

“Blast!” Theron muttered to himself. “How are we going to get past that?”

“You didn’t expect a forcefield?” Syldron sounded unimpressed. “A man of your profession?”

Scowling at him, Jett said, “Look, we can take care of it. Just watch.”

Before either could stop him, he marched up to the guards with perfect confidence. They saw him at once and raised their rifles.

“Halt! Identify yourself.”

The one on the right had spoken, his red tattoo forming a horizontal line resembling a scar over his left eye. Jett raised his hand once again, reaching out to the Force and using it to touch the Human’s mind.

“We have every right to be here. You will let us pass.”

A dazed look came over both men. Their rifles lowered a few centimetres before the one on the left, who had a buzzcut, mumbled, “You have every right to be here. We’ll— Let you—”

The dazed expressions were starting to clear. Highly disconcerted, Jett pushed harder, repeating his command.

“We will let you—” Tattoo said. “Let you—” He shook his head and placed his rifle back into firing position. “On the floor! Hands over your head.”

Panic and confusion rippled through Jett like an electric current. What was going on? Neither of these men should be able to resist a mind trick. He could think of nothing else but to obey, however, as letting them open fire would cause an almighty uproar.

“Commander,” Buzzcut said into a headpiece. “We have an intruder on—”

He was cut short as both he and Tattoo fell to the ground like remotely deactivated protocol droids. Jett turned to see Theron running towards him, gauntlet hand lowering back to his side, Syldron bringing up the rear.

“We need to work fast,” Theron said. “Whoever he spoke to is going to send down a team to investigate.” He went up to a control panel beside the ray shield and wrenched open a piece of plating. “Luckily I know how to slice.”

“I’m sorry,” Jett muttered to him, discreetly putting his hand on the small of Theron’s back. “I don’t know what happened just then.”

Theron looked flustered but, thankfully, not angry.

“It’s all right. You and Syldron keep an eye out while I work at this.”

“Hurry,” Syldron said as Jett joined him, his lekku twitching.

The two Jedi kept their hilts ready but did not activate their blades. Jett hoped he wouldn’t need to use his weapon at all. Beseeching the Force itself, he prayed that whichever commander Buzzcut spoke to would delay in sending out a search party.

The Force, as it turned out, had other ideas.

Within what seemed half a minute, they heard thundering footsteps heading their way and a second later five or six troopers appeared, all them helmeted and armed. They halted a few metres away, blasters cocked.

“Stop the intruders,” the CO ordered. “Blast them!”

The air trembled with the electric hum of many blasters going off at once. Jett and Syldron switched on their lightsabres, batting aside the first flurry of bolts with ease. The troops stopped firing as soon as they realised the people they were attacking were two Jedi, but their hesitation didn’t last long.

“Keep firing!”

The assault continued. Although Jett and Syldron knew they weren’t in any real danger, they were very aware that the noise was going to raise the alarm and more troops would soon be on their way. They did their best to prevent any of the blaster bolts from ricochetting back in the faces of the troops, but Jett could not help but feel this wouldn’t even be necessary had they used stun bolts rather than kill shots. That, if anything, disturbed him much more than the prospect of getting captured or even facing off more troopers. It would seem that the ranks in the Republic military had not been entirely purged of White Claw double-agents.

“Theron…”

He tried to keep his voice level as the blaster bolts continued pelting at them.

“I’ve almost got it, just hold on.”

Jett wasn’t sure how much longer they _could_ hold on. They could not keep this up forever and, judging by the sound of more marching feet behind them, they had even less time to get onto the landing pad.

“Got it!”

A loud buzz announced the ray shield’s termination and both Jett and Syldron hared after Theron as he raced onto the landing pad. The troopers made chase. They were still firing as the two Jedi sprinted across the platform and leapt into the speeder. Theron kicked it into gear and within seconds, they took off, red lines of energy narrowly avoiding the speeder’s nose as they swerved around the circular Senate Tower’s exterior and blasted away into the night.

“That was close,” Syldron said from the backseat.

Theron shook his head. “We’re not out of it yet.”

No sooner had he spoken then the growl of an engine filled their eardrums. With a sinking feeling, Jett glanced behind him. Three air patrol speeders were less than a kilometre behind them, their arrow-shaped noses like knives as they ripped through the air. None of them had any time to wonder if the patrol speeders were armed before several blasts of energy flew towards them. Theron swerved just in time to avoid it, and they watched as one bolt continued into the air until it vanished and the others hit the corners of a sky tower. Jett was grateful there wasn’t any traffic, or else someone might’ve been hit. Having said that, it provided the patrol cars ample reason to shoot them out of the sky.

“Syldron!” Theron reached under his seat and produced a heavy carbine blaster. “Take this and shoot back at them.”

Syldron stared as it was handed to him, holding it as if it were something contagious.

“But, I don’t—”

“Just do it!”

Swallowing, Syldron turned in his seat, holding up the carbine in a woefully inexpert fashion.

“Aim for the cannons,” Jett told him. “On their underbelly.”

More laser bolts whizzed past their ears, skimming off the speeder’s paintwork. Jett cursed under his breath, wishing Theron had thought to get a speeder that had a closed seating compartment. Syldron fired back but the bolts missed by a wide margin. When he fired again, he nearly dropped the carbine over the side of the speeder as Theron swerved to avoid a holo traffic signal.

“Here.” He handed Jett one of his hand blasters. “Help him out.”

Jett took it and turned to fire. He nearly lost his arm in the process as yet another bolt soared towards them. Even with the Force, aiming was much more difficult than it seemed, given the distance and Theron’s constant turning. One shot at least did the trick; it didn’t hit the patrol car but in its effort to avoid it, it flew straight through an active power coupling, sending charges of electricity through its metal plating and causing it to drop out of the air. Now only two remained.

Meanwhile, Theron yanked this way and that on the steering yoke, desperately finding a narrow enough passage through the sky towers that the patrol cars would be forced to abandon the chase. But every sky lane seemed treacherously wide, providing enough space for a light corvette to pass through.

“This is no use,” he said as took another abrupt turn. “They’re going to call for backup at this rate.”

“Theron!” Jett pointed. “Up ahead.”

Three more patrol vehicles were racing towards them. Two sky towers loomed either side, making even an about-turn impossible.

“Aw, hell!” Theron adjusted the gear stick. “Hold on.”

With a lurch, the speeder’s nose tilted until it was facing downwards at an almost ninety-degree angle. Jett held himself against his seat as best he could as they plunged towards the duracrete. Had the wind not been battering the fur on his face, it would’ve been standing on end. The roof of a squat building was hurtling towards them.

“Pull up!” he shouted. “Theron, pull up!”

Theron did pull up but only at the last second and Syldron let out a cry of dismay as the speeder righted itself and continued to fly straight again. The ploy worked. Several of the patrol vehicles, who had gone into a dive after them, failed to pull up in time, causing them to skid and crash on the building’s rooftops. Jett winced, hoping whoever was inside had only suffered a few broken bones. Still, they _did_ just try to shoot them. In any case, three pulled out of the dive much more neatly and continued the chase. Theron groaned.

“I was hoping they’d all crash,” he said through gritted teeth.

“If we spend much more time out here,” Jett said, “they’ll shoot us out of the— Look out!”

A roof spire had come out of nowhere. Theron swore as he narrowly managed to avoid it, but not narrowly enough. They felt the pointed edge of the spire scrape the speeder’s underside, causing the whole thing to wobble dangerously and a deafening screech to make them wince as the durasteel plating was torn off. Syldron let out another cry and they turned to see the carbine fall out of his fingers and over the speeder’s side.

“Dammit!” Theron hit the dashboard in frustration as they turned yet another corner. “We need a skylane, a dark alley, anything so we can avoid detection.”

“There!” Jett pointed over to a shady gap between two buildings off to their right.

Theron didn’t even think about it. He yanked the yoke and flew the speeder down the narrow lane. It was pretty dark. Jett was sure that the patrol cars would miss their taillights and drive straight past. He was wrong. Almost as if they had expected it, the headlights of two patrol cars filled the alley as the third made off to look elsewhere.

“Now what?” Theron sounded furious.

Up ahead, the opening to the alley was getting closer. To their horror, the third patrol car was waiting there to cut them off. They were done for. Unless…

“Get ready to jump.”

Theron glanced at Jett as if he were mad. So did Syldron.

“Do it!” Jett told them. “Trust me.”

Apprehensive, Theron let go of the yoke and threw himself over the side. Syldron did the same and a second later, so did Jett, as the patrol vehicle ahead of them grew larger with every passing second.

Next moment, they were freefalling as their speeder roared away from them, hurling lower and lower towards the ground without a pilot to guide it. But none of the patrol cars noticed that they had abandoned the vehicle and continued to chase it, even as it broke out of the opening on the other side.

Now, they had a new problem.

Levels and levels of windows flew past them. Off to Jett’s left, Theron had widened his limbs to slow his momentum. Syldron had not been so luckily; his jump out of the speeder had been executed with less finesse and now he was cartwheeling through the air, unable to control his descent. Jett reached out and grabbed Theron’s hand. Then, using the Force, he reached out to grab Syldron’s hand. Eventually, the three were falling in a triangle formation, but the ground was still rushing up to meet them.

“Syldron!” Jett bellowed. “Channel the Force. Put it around us. Quick!”

Nodding, the Twi’lek closed his eyes and Jett felt his Force aura merge with his own as they formed a kind of bubble. At the same time, he attempted to use it in the same way he might lift objects to help slow them down. He could feel it working somewhat but they were still falling far too quickly.

Below an empty plaza ballooned into sight. Pulling them to the side, Jett tried to make them land on something relatively soft, but there were only a few sparse artificial trees decorating the boulevard and they were too far away from each other. Jett closed his eyes.

_May the Force protect us!_

They hit the ground with colossal force and, with the protective bubble still around them, bounced several times along the boulevard until all three were separated from their formation and landed in a heap in a public playground.

For long, agonizing moments, they lay there, breathing heavily, hardly daring to believe that they were still alive. By all rights, their remains should’ve splattered across the duracrete. But luck had finally been on their side and, apart from a few bruises and scratches, they were unharmed. At least, for the moment.

Gingerly, Jett got to his feet. His barely-healed ribs were on fire again and he was certain he’d suffered whiplash judging by the fiery pain in his neck and back. Other than that though, he seemed to be okay. Theron got up beside him. He too seemed unhurt and when he caught a glimpse of Jett he couldn’t help but grin widely. Jett grinned back. A second later, they were leaning against each other as they laughed.

“Are you okay?” Jett managed to wheeze out, wincing as his ribs protested against his laughter.

Theron nodded then cricked his neck.

“That,” he said, “ _was_ a close one.”

They gazed at each other a moment and Jett was possessed by an overwhelming desire to kiss him. Then Syldron moaned and they looked round to see the Twi’lek stumbling towards them, one lekku wrapped around his neck. He had a slight limp but otherwise was uninjured.

“I think I passed out,” he panted. “But that landing woke me up again.”

Jett put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Syldron smiled weakly. “I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t much good up there. I was always a lousy shot.”

“You did what you can. Now, all we need to do is get to the underlevels.”

Theron inspected a public holo-map. “It’s close. We can get there on foot.” He looked around at the empty plaza. “Shame there isn’t a speeder bike we can steal.”

Syldron scowled in disapproval but let the comment slide.

“As long as we get there soon,” he grumbled. “Because, after tonight, I’m going to need a very stiff drink.”


	14. The Neutron Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at their destination, the trio meets up with their contact, only to learn some dismaying news.

Making their way from the plaza, they snuck along several side streets, making sure they kept to the shadows. They saw no one. Not even a landspeeder impeded their progress as they shortened the distance between them and Black Sun territory. Once or twice, patrol speeders zoomed overhead, their searchlights sweeping the pavements but never catching sight of them. Aside from the hum of their ion engines and the distant rumble of a large corvette hovering over the sky towers, nothing could be heard.

Jett found the silence oppressive. Any moment, he expected to run into an ambush of Republic troopers or a lower level posse of gangsters who had dared make their way to the surface. His hearing seemed sharper than normal, his nose picking up scents where there should not be any. His _rakktarr_ was returning. He had tempered it for a while after the time he had spent with Theron this evening, but it seemed his body wanted more.

And not just from anyone. It wanted Theron specifically.

Every time their elbows brushed up against one another, he had to fight the overpowering urge to rip Theron’s garb off his nimble frame and take him against the wall. This made it very difficult to focus on their mission which Jett knew should be his top priority. Then again, why? Who cared if the White Claw took over anyway? Let the Republic do what it likes! As long as he and Theron could be together, it didn’t matter who ruled the galaxy. Every time thoughts like this entered his head, he let out a growl and squeezed the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. They needed to get to The Neutron Star as soon as possible, preferably without detection. For that, they needed to find a public elevator, and then— But no matter how hard he tried, the heat rose within him once more and he found himself panting. Why did he have to put on such a heavy overcoat?

“Are you all right, Jett?”

Theron’s hand on his forearm sent ripples of fire through his body. How many hours had it been since they’d lain naked together, passionately joined in intimacy? It had been too long already.

“Yes,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I’m fine.”

It seemed Theron mistook his attempt at self-control as irritation as his hand withdrew at once and regret pummelled Jett faster than the all-consuming lust. He didn’t have time to make up for it, however, as Syldron whispered a warning and they all ducked back into a dark doorway to avoid a pillar of searchlight sweeping the street. Pressed up against him in the confined space, Jett’s desire to kiss Theron returned tenfold. A soft vibration in his throat and chest began of its own accord as he caught Theron’s eye. Judging by the stirring look behind his hazel retinas, he too was thinking about what the two of them could be doing right now. With a slight smile, however, he shook his head and whispered, “Later.”

Jett hoped that was a promise.

Minutes later, they arrived in another square set between a quadrangle of residential blocks. In the centre was what appeared to be a booth of some kind. As they drew closer, however, it became apparent that it was an elevator leading to the lower levels. They piled into it, the doors snapping shut behind them. Theron pressed a button and almost at once the lift juddered and began to move downwards.

“Be on your guard,” he said, checking his blasters before holstering them again.

Syldron nodded, his face set. Jett, meanwhile, wiped his face to try and clear his mind. He was desperately thirsty and he was sweating between his fingers and toes again. The air was thickening, growing closer and closer until it felt as if someone were pressing sheets of shimmersilk against his nose and mouth. He glanced at the others but neither of them seemed to be feeling anything. This elevator ride was giving him flashbacks to earlier that day as he, Master Linn, Syldron and Qo’ra all rode the turbolift down into the depths of the prison. He wondered what would be waiting for them when they arrived. No doubt a few thugs waiting for some surface-dwellers to walk into a trap.

After what felt like a hundred levels, the lift juddered to a halt and the doors hissed open. Jett had to suppress a gasp. For a wild moment, he wondered if they’d been miraculously transported to the Red Light Sector on Nar Shaddaa. They had arrived on a litter-strewn street that stretched for at least a kilometre with dozens of neon signs hanging or hovering above their heads while advertising seedy establishments or questionable over-the-counter prescriptions. Beings of every creed — Chagrian, Ithorian, Weequays, and many more — huddled over fires in old supply crates, slouched against walls while begging passers-by for spare credits, or loitered under street lamps glaring at anyone who dared glance their way. Speeders buzzed and squawked, cantina bands blared music and late-night street sellers seduced customers with items that were almost certainly illegal, including limb prosthetics and handheld blasters. Unlike the clean air of the surface level, the air down here smelt of smoke, sizzling meat, and raw sewage.

For Jett in particular, the stench was like a punch to the face. He could not restrain himself from covering his nose as he, Syldron, and Theron made their way up the street, doing their best to look as though they belonged but, given the sheer newness of their clothes in comparison to the shoddy tunics the beings all around them wore, they stuck out worse than a Wookie in a crowd of Jawas. Many eyes followed them as they made their progress, some of them curious but most hostile. The Human faces he saw were particularly pale as if they hadn’t seen sunlight in a good long while. Jett pitied them. He could not imagine living with durasteel plating and pipework over his head instead of a clear blue sky.

“Stay close,” Theron muttered under his breath. “Don’t give anyone eye contact.”

This was easier said than done. With nearly every passing being glancing their way, it was incredibly hard not to look back. A scantily-clad Falleen female attempted to seduce them by caressing her scaly green body. She projected overpowering pheromones which, to a wide number of species, would have been irresistible. For Jett, however, it only added to the stink of the place and he moved to block Theron from her view.

_He’s mine, understand? Take him and I will rip out your heart._

Syldron, meanwhile, was employing every Jedi discipline he knew to keep his gaze forward. Noticing this, the Falleen woman called out to him in a sibilant tongue. Syldron’s head twitched but otherwise, he remained steadfast. Jett knew he was focusing with all his might on the image of Qo’ra and using the pain and love he felt for her to resist the Falleen’s spell. It made Jett oddly proud of him.

At last, they turned into a side street. Halfway down, a four-story club radiated light and music. It reminded Jett a lot of the bar he and Jett had visited the previous evening only this place was much seedier-looking. The sign above the entrance had half its letters blown out so that “Tron Tar” flashed at them in various shades of green and pink. The windows behind the bars set over them were grimy and the façade was missing several tiles. A queue snaked from the door with a single Herglic bouncer guarding the entrance.

Ignoring the queue entirely, Theron marched up to the Herglic who threw out a thick black arm to block his path.

“Back of the line, sir,” he said in Basic. Theron smiled.

“Forgotten what I look like already, Po?” He gestured at his face. “Must be the implant I’ve had for… oh, six years now?”

Comprehension dawned on the Herglic’s wide face, his enormous mouth splitting into a smile of recognition.

“Jex Manhart!” he bellowed so loud Jett could’ve sworn he felt the ground quake beneath his boots. “You old-timer, how you been keeping?”

“Just scraping by,” Theron said casually. “And far from an ‘old timer’, if you don’t mind my adding.”

“Well, all you Humans look the same to me. All right, go right on in.”

Po lifted the tattered rope draped over the entrance which was met by a lot of protests from the beings in the queue.

“Oh, quit your yapping!” Herglic snapped at them all. “You’re lucky we’re even open tonight. Go on in, friend.” He gestured at the two Jedi and, with nods and smiles of thanks, they caught up with Theron.

“They all know me as Jex here,” he muttered, responding to Jett’s inquisitive look. “As far as they’re concerned, I’m just your average smuggler.”

“And what does that make us?” Syldron asked.

“My crewmates. Jett’s my first mate, you can be my, um… mechanic.”

Theron eyed him up and down, and Jett could tell he wasn’t convinced Syldron sold him on the “mechanic” part. With his facial scars, he looked more like a stowaway soldier on the run from his commanding officer. Besides, who in the Galaxy had a mechanic anymore when an astromech did the job much faster and without needing food or rest? But Syldron didn’t say anything. He just nodded. With that, they turned and entered the club.

It had to be the only club open in the neighbourhood if any of the locals thought the place was worth queuing to get in. For starters, The Neutron Star was a lot smaller on the inside than it was on the outside with barely any room pass through the dense crowd of patrons. Dirty mirrors had been placed haphazardly on the walls to make the place seem more spacious with the result of making it feel much more claustrophobic. Given Jett’s thick frame, he found it difficult to squeeze between bodies and caught a lot of angry stares as he treaded on feet and shoved against backs.

“Padron me… Excuse me… Sorry…”

No matter how apologetic he was, it made no difference. Within moments, he’d irritated at least thirty people and he hadn’t even reached the bar yet.

In a perverse method to make the place seem more lively, a holoprojector had been set in the middle of the floor which flickered on and off as it pathetically tried to complete the task it was designed for. As he watched, Jett witnessed a holo recording of a bikini-clad Twi’lek female dance for everyone’s pleasure, except nobody seemed to be paying a blind bit of attention to it. Either they’d seen the recording so many times it had lost its appeal or its shoddy, static quality made any joy one might garner from it unobtainable.

Theron paid no heed to their surroundings as he led them up a flight of stairs to a second, narrower room which was given way a dancefloor and a trio of Sabaac tables. He headed over to the furthest table and stopped beside another Twi’lek who was intensely mesmerised on the droid dealing out his cards.

“You know,” Theron said to him, “if you rub those chips together any harder they might vanish.”

The male Twi’lek grunted, barely sparing him a glance. He was about the same build as Syldron, if a bit thinner, and had blue skin rather than red. His lekku twitched as he bored his eyes into his other opponents

“Maybe you will bring me some good luck,” he responded, then cursed in his native tongue as he lost the hand. With an irritated grunt, he pressed a button and withdrew his credit chip. “Lousy night. Lost fifty credits on my first hand.” Finally, he turned and looked at them all for the first time. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing friends along.”

“This is Kurzon,” Theron said, gesturing at Jett with a thumb. “My navigator and co-pilot. And Slick here’s my mechanic.”

Jett outstretched his hand to shake but the Twi’lek only scowled at him. He quickly withdrew it, realising that anything as polite as a handshake down in Black Sun territory was, at best, regarded with the highest suspicion.

“Name’s Daggonath,” the stranger said. “Envoy to the great Corsair Narzu’chev, the Unruly, Scourge of the Mid-Rim.” He turned back to Theron. “He won’t see you, Jex. He doesn’t like anyone taking up his time, especially if they don’t have an appointment.”

Theron made an elaborate display of disappointment.

“Aw, come on, Daggonath,” he said. “He knows me! Surely he can take some time out of his busy schedule to see little old Jex. After all, I did help him smuggle that generator through the Corellian Spine. Without it, he wouldn’t even have a ship.”

Jett could barely absorb this surprising piece of information or wonder how many smuggling missions Theron had been on before Daggonath got to his feet.

“Look,” he said. “Truth is, he’s on shore leave. He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Shore leave? I didn’t think he took shore leave.”

“He wouldn’t have if we didn’t insist on it. All his crew knows he works too hard. He needs time for some R&R before hopping back on the _Emerald Flame_. We were originally going to send him to Nar Shaddaa but he’s wanted there by every crime syndicate that walks on its surface, including the Hutts. The price on his head is so big even a freighter hull full of Alderaanian treasure wouldn’t be enough to cover it.”

Theron whistled. “He _has_ been busy. So, where did you send him? Is he here on Coruscant?”

Instead of answering, Daggonath said, “He instructed me to inform anyone requesting an audience that he is unavailable for another standard week at the most. He even shut off his commlink so no one would bother him.” As Theron opened his mouth to answer, he added, “You can’t reach him, Jex. So I suggest you run back to your ship and get off this planet as soon as you can. Given recent events, it looks like all hell’s gonna break loose. And it will all start right here in the underlevels. It always does.”

Theron put his hands on his hips as he regarded the sticky floor.

“Listen,” he said. “Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t ask. But we’re desperate, Daggonath. We need his help and we need it now.”

The Twi’lek shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. Check back after seven rotations and maybe then—”

He trailed off as, to all their surprise, Syldron stepped forward.

“You’re from Ryloth,” he said to Daggonath. “Aren’t you?”

Blinking, Daggonath nodded, regarding the other Twi’lek cautiously.

“I _was_ from Ryloth,” he said, “before it was invaded by the Empire and they took our people as slaves, including my whole family.” He reached up to his throat and Jett noticed for the first time the thin scar that ran across it. “But that was many years ago. I was still a child. I might have died a slave had Narzu’chev not freed me.”

Syldron raised a hand, making an odd gesture with his mechanical digits that Jett didn’t recognise. His lekku, too, twitched oddly in a way Jett had never seen before. Daggonath seemed to recognise it, however, as his eyes widened and, hesitantly, he returned the gesture in kind.

“I’m from Ryloth too,” Syldron told him. “But I left when I was still a baby. I’m told the winds are fierce. I suppose I was lucky to have escaped the Empire’s tyranny.”

“I never knew Lethans were still on Ryloth,” Daggonath said.

Syldron smiled. “And Rutians are a credit a dozen.”

This made the other Twi’lek laugh, showing off his sharp teeth as he replied in their native tongue. He turned back to Theron and Jett.

“I like this one,” he said. “But I still can’t let you see Narzu’chev. His crew was very insistent that he isn’t disturbed.”

“Sounds like a very loyal crew,” Jett said.

Daggonath looked at his curiously. “More than half of us owe him our freedom.”

“How many exactly? What’s the ratio?”

The Twi’lek frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You said more than half of you owe him your freedom,” Jett explained. “So that’s around, what? Sixty percent?”

Suddenly wary again, Daggonath responded, “More like seventy percent.”

Staring him dead in the eyes, Jett took a few steps towards him, allowing his considerable size to swallow Daggonath in his shadow.

“Seventy percent former slaves,” he muttered. “Former slaves who will once again lose their freedom if you prevent us from seeing Narzu’chev.”

The Twi’lek’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Jett was well aware of Theron and Syldron silently urging him to keep his mouth shut. After all, it was unwise to let Daggonath in on why they wanted to meet with Narzu’chev, but Jett was acting on a hunch. More than that, he was sure it was the Force nudging him forward, telling him that this was the right thing to do.

“I mean,” he went on, “that if the White Claw manages to overthrow the Republic, every non-Human will be captured, tortured, and forced into lifelong servitude. If they resist, they will be executed.” He leant in closer, letting his Cathar features bore into Daggonath’s own. “We’re on a mission, Daggonath. We’re here to stop the White Claw from turning the Republic into a clone of the Sith Empire. We can only do that with Narzu’chev’s help. Turn us away, and you’ll be spitting in the face of everything he stands for. We want every non-Human being to live the life of freedom that they all deserve. You might argue that, down here, that hardly makes a difference. But I think you know that a free life, even if it’s a life in the underlevels of Courascant, is better than being in chains.”

Daggonath stared at him for a long while, saying nothing. It was difficult to read his expression but Jett was sure he was turning over his options in his mind. His lekku twitched slightly as he looked away again and sighed.

“I will see what I can do,” he said. “I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to meet with him tonight and even if I could, you’d have to wait a few hours. But I’ll contact him and we’ll see what he has to say.”

Jett drew back, nodding. “Thank you. You’ve done the right thing.”

The Twi’lek’s mouth thinned. “We’ll see about that soon enough.”


	15. Narzu'chev

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Jett, Theron, and Syldron meet with the person they came to find. But is he willing to help them in their mission to take down the White Claw?

They waited at the bar while Daggonath made the call. It took around twenty minutes, by which time Jett was already on his second drink. Theron sat beside him with a creased forehead, clutching his blue bantha, but not drinking it. He tapped an uneven rhythm on the bar’s surface, making Jett wonder if he was simply growing impatient or if he was furious with Jett for revealing their intention. It was hard to tell, given how the alcohol was dulling the edges of his Force sensitivity. In any case, there were so many other beings in The Neutron Star that honing in on one aura was much harder than usual.

Keeping his voice low so Syldron wouldn’t hear, Jett leaned in towards him and asked, “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Theron glanced up, blinking. “Mad?”

“For what I did back there. Telling Daggonath why we wanted to see Narzu’chev.”

Theron’s surprised expression became a frown. “Oh. Well, I was a little peeved, I’ll admit. It’s often not a good idea to reveal all your Sabaac cards at once. But it worked, so I guess I can’t complain.” He shook his head. “No, what I was wondering was why your mind trick failed to work on those guards earlier.”

“Oh.”

Jett hadn’t even thought about that. Then again, there hadn’t been much time to do so in the last few hours.

“I thought it might have been because of… Well, you know.” Theron’s face turned red again and Jett caught onto his meaning.

“My _rakktarr_?”

He nodded. “I mean, I’m no expert, you know that. But it did seem odd how easily they resisted. At first, I thought that they had Force-resistance training. But from who? And why? It just doesn’t make sense.”

Jett’s stomach squirmed. The idea that his _rakktarr_ had become so intense that it was affecting his ability to use the Force was a worrying prospect. He needed the Force now more than ever and with several days left until his _rakktarr_ burnt out — that is until it returned the following month — his ability to use it and maintain his connection to it would become unreliable, like a faulty astromech. He knew under normal circumstances some hours left alone to meditate might do the trick, but he no longer had that luxury.

“Jett?”

He looked into Theron’s consoling gaze. His expression was so tender that it made Jett want to weep. This feeling intensified when Theron discreetly took his hand and squeezed it.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said. “We’ll get through this.”

Jett could only smile tightly in response.

A few minutes later, Daggonath reappeared, sliding through two Rodians exchanging death sticks without even glancing at them or acknowledging their angry hooting. His expression was unreadable and again Jett failed to pick up any significant emotion from him in the Force. All he got was a vague sense of apprehension.

“He says he will see you,” the Twi’lek said.

Theron nodded. “When?”

“He’ll be here within the hour. In the meantime, he invites you to enjoy his private booth upstairs until he arrives.”

They stood up at once, Theron brushing grime off his jacket.

“Well, certainly beats being in this crowd,” he muttered as an Aqualish started coughing violently right next to him.

Daggonath led them up another flight of stairs to a level of the club that was at once much quieter and much better looked after. Separate rooms had been divided into small, private booths with mountains of plump cushions and buckets of champagne and bottled ale. Tall hooka pipes sat at the centre of each one, including the biggest which was the one Daggonath showed them into.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” he said as the three of them awkwardly placed themselves on the cushions. “Naru’chev will be along shortly.”

“Aren’t you joining us?” Syldron asked.

“I’m afraid not. There’s a Sabaac tournament downstairs that needs my attention. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With a slight bow, he turned and left, the beaded curtain jangling behind him.

Despite having plenty of drink and hooka fluid to keep them occupied, the hour crawled by. They drank only sparingly, not wanting to become too intoxicated before Narzu’chev arrived. Theron couldn’t resist trying out the hooka pipe, however, and Jett, despite his misgivings, was curious to try some too. Syldron didn’t touch any of it, instead choosing to meditate on his cushion, eyes closed and hands folded in his lap. Jett felt he ought to join him, just to recuperate his strength if nothing else, but he was too agitated. Would Narzu’chev agree to help them? Would he even be able to? He seemed like a well-connected being with many resources at his disposal. But it was doubtful even a powerful, Force-wielding pirate could take down the White Claw.

At last, the beaded curtain parted again and another Twi’lek, this time female and dressed in a red combat suit, stepped into the booth.

“Presenting Corsair Narzu’chev, the Unruly,” she announced in a strong, clear voice. “Scourge of the Mid-Rim, Breaker of Bonds and Captain of the _Emerald Flame_.”

Behind her, a retinue of two more Twi’leks, a Human, and a Trandoshan entered to sit down around the hooka pipe. Following behind them was Narzu’chev. Even without the announcement, Jett would’ve known this was the man they sought. Dressed in a fine, light-blue tunic with knee-high boots and a long cape with a flaring collar, Narzu’chev radiated power. Not only was his power in the Force significant — even to Jett’s fuzzy perception — but his build, wide and thick-set, along with his considerable height made him loom over them all until the room was swallowed up by his enormous presence. The handle of his sabrestaff hung prominently from his belt and a techno eye-piece covering his right eye seemed to penetrate them all with its blue-lensed gaze. Despite this, he was smiling pleasantly though Jett detected something in his expression — a kind of hidden sadness as if he felt the weight of the whole galaxy on his shoulders.

Respectfully, Theron got to his feet. Jett and Syldron did the same.

“Corsair Narzu’chev,” Theron said with a dip of his head as though he were addressing royalty. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Jex Manhart,” Narzu’chev responded. His voice was deep but soft as if he were aware of how uncomfortable he could make those around him feel if he chose to speak at full volume. Jett took this as a good sign. “It’s nice to see you too. Though, I would appreciate a bit more honesty next time.”

Theron looked confused. “Honesty?”

Narxu’chev nodded, his smile widening. “I’ve been in this business too long to know when someone is using an alias. Besides, my resources tell me everything I need to know about anyone I meet. Call it an extra precaution.”

“An alias?” Theron said, eyes darting from side-to-side which to Jett was as good as a confession. “I don’t know—”

“Please, don’t waste my time pretending,” Narzu’chev said, raising a hand. “I know you’re not Jex Manhart, local smuggler. You’re Theron Shan of the Republic Strategic Information Service.” He ignored Theron’s stunned expression as he nodded at the other two. “And your companions are Syldron Ad’ula and Jett Jhazar, both Jedi knights who arrived on Coruscant two days ago as part of a delegation to tackle the ever-growing presence of Black Sun in the capital’s underworld. I can also tell you that you had a protein bar for breakfast because you were in a hurry and almost left your jacket behind as you rushed out to your speeder.”

Jett stared. Just how much did Narzu’chev know? Specifically, what did he know about his relationship with Theron? A small wink in his direction seemed to confirm his worst suspicions.

“I didn’t realise you were keeping tabs on me.” Theron looked furious. It was plain nobody had ever out-spied him. Until now, at least.

“I keep tabs on all my allies.”

“Allies you don’t seem to trust.”

Narzu’chev shrugged. “I’m wanted in twelve star systems. You say paranoid, I call it being careful.” He waved a hand. “Anyway, to business. We have much to discuss.”

With a rustle of his cape, the great Twi’lek sat between his female companion and the Trandoshan who hissed slightly as he fondled the vibroblade folded over his lap. Jett and Syldron sat down too, shortly followed by Theron who clearly wasn’t done with the subject of being stalked by Narzu’chev’s agents. Regardless, he chose to keep his silence.

“Daggonath tells me that you need my help.”

“Yes,” Theron said. “But you probably knew that already.”

Narzu’chev smiled but it was fleeting. “You want me to help you take down the White Claw.” As he spoke, the female Twi’lek set down a cup and a steaming pot of hot beverage in front of him. Without even looking, he took the pot, poured some into the cup and, holding it between two fingers, knocked the drink back. It must have been scalding but Narzu’chev barely seemed to wince. “What you fail to realise,” he went on, “is that you are asking for the impossible.”

Theron frowned. “How so?”

“Well, given all that the White Claw aim to achieve, I have been aware of their activities for some time now and have already tried to dismantle them. Two of my best Human crewmates — Kane and Fando — good men, both of them, were assigned to infiltrate the White Claw nearly a month ago. We were in regular contact with them for up to two days until they went completely silent. We haven’t seen either of them since.” His expression grew sombre. “If I had known how powerful they were, I would not have assigned them that mission. Both were former slaves and were beaten so often that they tried to kill themselves many times while they were in service to Gordo the Hutt. Freedom gave them the chance to live life as they wanted. They chose to become a part of my crew and, for that, they could well be dead.”

There was a long silence in which Narzu’chev drank more tea. The mournful look never once left his face.

“So, you see,” he continued, setting down his cup again. “Despite all my resources, I was unable to garner even the most basic intel on the White Claw. I dared not send any more of my crew to complete the job Kane and Fando began, though many volunteered. The risk is too great.”

“But surely—” Theron began.

“It is _too great_. Do you understand me? The White Claw rely on us underestimating their ability to cause harm and in that is where they cause the most damage. They are poison, eating away at the Republic from the inside. Like many, I believed they were just an extremely vocal hate group, to begin with, one that could barely organise a rally. But after they played me at my own game, I realised they are far, far worse than that. They are supported by some of the most powerful Humans in the Senate. They manipulate and act through the underlevel gangs that plague this planet. They are never in the forefront, always striking from the shadows.”

“They sound like the Sith,” Syldron muttered.

Narzu’chev nodded. “Indeed, you’re right. Their activities and methods of operation bare an uncanny resemblance to a certain empire we all know and love. At first, I believed White Claw as nothing more than a Sith ploy, a way to dismantle the enemy from within.”

“Is that still possible?” Theron asked, somewhat desperately.

“No.” Narzu’chev poured a third cup of the beverage. “I’m not sure how, but I know the Sith have nothing to do with White Claw. This is an entirely new enemy and all the deadlier for we lack the means to strike back at them. At least with the Empire, there are warships to fight, battles to be won, and military bases to be conquered. With the Empire, you know who the enemy is. But with White Claw, they could be everywhere and anywhere. You might have walked past a hundred of their disciples before you even set foot in this building. They’re a cancer and the Republic is only just waking up to fact that it’s terminal.”

Another silence elapsed.

“Do you know where your crewmen were last seen?” Jett was unsure what made him ask the question, but once again he had a hunch and he knew the best thing to do was follow it. “Kane and Fando. When did you receive their last communication?”

Naru’chev frowned slightly but waved a hand so that the female Twi’lek could pick up the story. She bore a strong resemblance to him — same green skin, similar patterns on her lekku — and Jett wondered if they were related.

“We traced their last message to an old holo-booth down on level 157,” she explained.

“157?” Theron’s eyes widened. “What were they doing down there?”

“We’re unsure, but we suspect they had been sent on a mission to prove their loyalty to White Claw.”

“More likely send them to their doom,” Theron muttered.

“Why?” Jett said. “What’s on level 157?”

A collective shudder rippled through the room. Of all of them, Syldron alone looked as perplexed as Jett felt.

“Let’s just say,” Narzu’chev said, “that people who tend to go down there rarely come back.”

“Monsters,” the Trandoshan gurgled in rough Basic. “There are monsters below. Monsters even Glizz dare not hunt.” He hissed again as if in a fit of sudden agitation. “Glizz not go, even if Scorekeeper ask him to.”

Jett had no idea what he was talking about but before he could ask about it, Narzu’chev raised a hand.

“That’s enough, Glizz. Those are only rumours. Besides, it’s more likely they were captured and killed by the White Claw itself rather than by some beings hitherto unknown to the rest of the galaxy.”

“It might be a good place to start, though,” Jett said.

Narzu’chev stared at him. “You intend to go down to level 157?”

“Jett,” Theron interjected. “That’s not a good idea.”

Jett turned to him, astonished. He thought Theron would be with him on this.

“Well, what other leads do we have?” he retorted. “Besides, if I were in charge of a clandestine terrorist organisation, the one place I would hide would be on the one level nobody ever went to.”

“The Cathar has a point,” the female Twi’lek observed. “Logically, if the White Claw were to hide anywhere, it would be there.”

Jett bristled at being addressed as “the Cathar” but was nonetheless grateful that she supported this theory. Judging also by the way Narzu’chev glanced at her, his opinion was more likely to be accepted if she thought it to be worthy of consideration.

“It’s still too risky,” Theron said. “If their agents are as widespread as you say, then they could be onto us already. Besides, I think we’re forgetting that Level 157 stretches across the _entire planet_ , just like the surface level as well as the one on which we stand. If by some miracle we manage to get down there without being detected, it could be weeks before we find them and that’s if they’re down there in the first place.”

“You are starting to see the magnitude of the problem,” Narzu’chev muttered.

Jett ignored him. He turned to Theron. “I thought you wanted to find them as much as I do.”

Theron grimaced. “Of course I want to find them,” he said. “But Jett, going down to 157, you’ve no idea what danger we’d be putting ourselves in.”

“Better us than Coruscant,” Jett said after a pause. “Or the entire Republic.”

Theron rubbed his eyes. “I’m not saying that we _shouldn’t_ do it, I’m just saying that it’s damn near impossible. Believe me, I’m the last one who’s thinking of their own hide. But what good to the Republic would we be if we end up dead? We just need to go about this smartly, that’s all. We need to come up with a plan.”

“That would take time,” Syldron muttered. “Time we can’t afford.”

“Well, we don’t have much of a choice here!” Jett’s irritation now bordered on frustration. He turned to Narzu’chev. “And we will come up with a plan. Otherwise, why did you agree to meet us? Getting down to Level 157 can’t be _that_ impossible or else you wouldn’t have wasted your time coming here.”

Narzu’chev looked grim but a moment later, he smiled.

“You’re right,” he said. “There may be a way. But, as Syldron has rightly pointed out, it’ll cost you time that you do not have.”

“How long?”

“A day at least. Maybe two.”

“Two _days_?” Jett was thrown. In two days, the White Claw could have taken over the entire Republic. “What kind of plan to get us down there could take that long?” He glowered at Narzu’chev. “You’re stalling. You’re trying to delay us getting down there.”

“Jett!” Theron sounded mortified but he paid no attention as he stood up, fists clenched at his side.

“How do we know the White Claw hasn’t got to your little cabal too? How do we know that you’re not trying to help them out? After all, you betrayed the Jedi, why not the entire Republic for good measure?”

As soon as he said it, he knew he’d gone too far. The Twi’lek stared stonily back at him, his eyepiece flashing blue. He remained as unfathomably calm as Master Linn, but the air tightened and even his minions shifted where they sat.

“If you believe for a moment that I would let that ring of fanatics infiltrate my crew without the slightest chance of me knowing about it,” he said, “then you are grossly mistaken. Now, I suggest you sit so we can formulate our plan.”

He gestured at the cushion Jett had just sprung from, never once taking his gaze from his face. He had not even raised his voice but Jett felt more shame than if Grandmaster Satele Shan herself had reproached him in person. He did as he was told, face burning. He could feel Theron watching him but didn’t meet his eyes.

“Your best chance at getting to Level 157 would be at daybreak,” Narzu’chev continued. “That is when the majority of air traffic tends to descend to the lower levels. We can provide you with transport and even some cargo which you can take down one of the underworld portals. There will be checks, however, so your best bet would be to take some false documents with you. Even smugglers and bounty hunters have a hard time getting into the undercity, and elevators from the surface level only take you so far.

“My suggestion is to meet some of my crew tomorrow morning at the Westron space dock thirty clicks west of our current location. They will disguise themselves as couriers passing off cargo to you which you will ‘deliver’ to Level 157. But be warned — communication to the upper levels will be extremely difficult. You may be forced to confront enemies worse than Black Sun or even the White Claw themselves. Once you’ve arrived, I’m afraid I cannot interfere. You will be entirely on your own.”

None of them spoke for a long time. But, at last, Theron nodded.

“How soon can you get us what we need?”

Narzu’chev thought for a moment. “If I can wangle it, I can get your cargo and your transport tonight. The false documents, on the other hand, might take a bit longer. This is why the operation may be delayed. Even if you receive them tomorrow afternoon, you will have to wait until the following morning before you can do anything; the window of opportunity to get down to Level 157 undetected is extremely slim.”

Jett closed his eyes and exhaled loudly through his nostrils. He didn’t like this plan one bit. All this waiting around while the White Claw made their move overthrowing Chancellor Saresh and the Republic military tightened its stranglehold. But what alternative did they have?

Tiredness overwhelmed him as he, Theron and Syldron were shown to their small sleeping quarters on the highest floor of The Neutron Star. Narzu’chev advised them to stay the night and gather their strength. It was cramped space with three single bunks pushed together. There were no windows.

“If ever you need anything,” Daggonath said to them as he hung back in the doorway. “Just call. I will come immediately.”

The bed was lumpy but oddly welcome as Jett laid back on it, still fully dressed. Syldron had gone to use the refresher so it was just him and Theron in the room. An awful silence hung between them as they stared at opposite walls.

“Wish we could be by ourselves,” Theron grumbled. “Would be nice to spend the rest of the evening alone together.”

Jett said nothing.

“It’s just,” Theron said after a while. “I’m not sure when we’ll get another opportunity.”

He turned his head towards him. “What are you asking?”

Theron’s hand strayed across the breadth of his stomach. “We could find somewhere to be by ourselves. Just for a few minutes.”

Jett would have loved nothing more. Instead, he took Theron’s hand and gently pushed it aside.

“We can’t risk it.”

Theron frowned. “I’m sure Daggonath could—”

“No. You misunderstand.” He sat up until the two of them were face-to-face. “If what you said was right, about this affecting my ability to use the Force, then I can’t risk indulging myself in it anymore. Not when we might need it most.”

Theron looked crestfallen. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Jett added quickly. “Believe me, I want nothing more than to take you somewhere private and… cosy.” His face burned a little and he was pleased to see Theron’s face turn red. “I just— I’m trying to— Ah, the hell with it!” He grabbed Theron’s face and brought it against his own, kissing for so long that he was surprised the Human had breath for it.

Despite his surprise, Theron melted under his arms and began to kiss back, his arms snaking around Jett’s neck.

“I thought—” he panted once they broke apart, “I thought we need you to have the Force.”

Jett cupped his chin with his enormous fingers, feeling the brush of smooth skin against his fur.

“I’d rather not have the Force at all,” he whispered, “then live a life without you.”

Their second kiss was interrupted by the arrival of Syldron, who seemed oblivious of the two of them breaking apart in a flustered manner.

“We’ll wait until he’s asleep,” Theron’s eyes said to Jett as they settled down for the night.

It seemed to take a long time. By the time Jett heard Syldron’s soft breathing begin and gentle snores emit from the Twi’lek’s mouth, he could’ve sworn at least an hour had passed. He turned, slowly and quietly towards Theron.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Let’s go!”

Theron didn’t respond. Frowning, Jett propped himself up on his elbow and discovered that Theron was fast asleep himself. He looked so peaceful that Jett didn’t have the heart to wake him. Instead, he settled back down and put a hand on the edge of Theron’s bed. Almost instinctively, Theron rolled over and clasped it against his chest, drawing Jett in. Soon, their warmth was combined, pressed against one another like two rods left to heat up beside an open fire. It was so peaceful and comfortable, Jett’s chest began to vibrate again. For the first time that day, his mind let go of his troubles and, soon enough, he too dozed off.


	16. Omens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awoken abruptly by Narzu'chev, Jett is shown something which shows him how urgent his mission is and how dire the consequences will be should he fail.
> 
> **WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of graphic violence.**

Jett felt as if he’d barely slept a minute before he was awake again. Something had disturbed him, but nothing had changed. On the far side of the room, Syldron lay on his back, snoring. Theron was still curled in Jett’s arms, their single beds somehow having conjoined as they spooned. Not a sound could be heard aside from the dull thrumming of buildings mechanical organs as it settled down for the night. So, what had awoken him? It took only a glance towards the door to see what it was and Jett sat up on his bunk, now wide awake.

Narzu’chev stood in the open doorway, his bulky frame silhouetted against what little light there was to be found. He was staring right at Jett, the blue of his eyepiece casting an eerie glow across his features. His expression was intense yet unknowable, as though he’d seen something while watching them sleep that Jett could not see.

How long had he been standing there just staring at him?

A moment passed in which they simply gazed at one another. Then, wordlessly, Narzu’chev turned and disappeared with a swish of his cape. Jett heard his heavy footsteps recede down the corridor before stopping.

The message was clear.

Careful not to wake Theron, Jett got up and followed him. He saw the Twi’lek descend a staircase towards the floor of private rooms. Mystified, Jett wondered what Narzu’chev was doing, but something pushed him forward and he crept along on silent feet until he found himself on the floor below. Narzu’chev had entered the private room to the left of the one they had all sat in and devised their plan. Its beaded curtain swished in the dimness, chopping up a bacta-blue light that was coming from inside. Fur prickling along his shoulders, Jett moved forward and went in after Narzu’chev, against his better judgement. While he was convinced he was still connected to the Force enough to sense danger when it came his way, he proceeded cautiously regardless. After all, they were supposed to be resting. Why had Narzu’chev brought him here in the middle of the night when he had said they needed to gather their strength?

Parting the curtain, Jett found himself in a small, circular space, decorated similarly to the room in which they held their meeting but without the hooka pipe, free beverages or shimmersilk drapes. Indeed, it was empty apart from Narzu’chev himself and two cushions arranged around an ornate bowl of some kind set in the middle of the floor. This was the source of the blue light for the bowl seemed to contain some strange liquid — or was it gas? — that swirled and shimmered away throughout the concave interior.

Narzu’chev was standing behind it, though his back was facing Jett as he came in. To his alarm, Jett saw that the Twi’lek was removing his cape and his upper tunic. Seconds later, as his fine garb fell to the floor, Narzu’chev stood shirtless, his green body bathed in that alien blue glow as he bent forward to pick something up Jett couldn’t see. Then he turned to face Jett, eyepiece once again flashing. He was holding a large jug which cast the same light as whatever substance was in the bowl for it underlit the Twi’lek’s chin as he moved forward.

“Tell me, young Jett,” he said, his voice as steady and as deep as the foundations of the planet itself. “Has recent events afforded you any visions of what’s to come?”

Completely nonplussed, Jett shook his head.

“I’ve never been that great at seeing the future,” he said. “It’s one of the many things the Force seems to have deemed me unfit to experience.”

Narzu’chev halted right beside the bowl, his gaze still unflinching.

“But you have experienced a vision, have you not?”

Jett wondered what exactly he was getting at.

“Once or twice,” he mumbled, “while I was still a padawan. But they were flashing images — vague and unclear. They weren’t particularly helpful. And I only managed to do it because I was deep in meditation. Master Orgus made me…” He trailed off, feeling the keen sting of grief as he remembered the warm gaze of his old master’s face. “He said I should have at least one experience before I became a knight.”

Narzu’chev raised the jug and tilted it until a stream of the blue liquid came pouring out, landing in the bowl directly at his feet. Curiously, the substance made neither a sound nor splash as it made contact. Indeed, having increased in quantity, Jett was sure that this addition would bring the bowl to overflowing. But all it accomplished was to make the substance in the bowl glow brighter.

“The future,” Narzu’chev said as he continued to pour, “is as mysterious and multi-faceted as the Force itself. It is always in motion, always changing. Never can we be sure if what we see will come to pass.” He raised the jug back into its upright position then set it down beside the bowl. “There are techniques, however, that allow one to gaze into the mists of time with greater accuracy, techniques that are unknown even the Jedi.”

He lowered himself into a kneeling position over the bowl, his thighs resting against the soft flesh of his cushion. With a gesture, he invited Jett to do the same. Jett obeyed, though he was still unsure where this was going.

“This bowl,” the Twi’lek explained, “belonged to my ancestors. Long ago on Ryloth, there was a sect of mystics who prized themselves on being able to predict the future. They accurately forecasted when storms would tear apart the villages spread across the land and would even guide nomadic tribes away from dangerous paths through the inhospitable landscape. Their methods were mysterious and some contemporaries claim they used crude forms of Sith alchemy to warp and change the fabric of time itself. They have long since vanished but to this day Twi’lek soothsayers and witch doctors utilise some of the same techniques — mostly to help aide their Hutt and Imperial overlords, you understand, but the traditions are there regardless.

“Since discovering this artefact, which for many years was being hoarded by a Shadow Syndicate slaver, I have made great use of it. It has enhanced my connection to the Force and not only has it allowed me to peer into the future but also the dim past as well as the present. It is the ultimate strategy tool. I can predict precisely when slaver vessels will traverse the hyperlanes and go on ahead to intercept them. It has never failed me. I assume this is because of my heritage, however, I have not had much opportunity to try it with a member of a separate species. But with my help, I can let you use this tool to prepare for the trials ahead.”

This did nothing for Jett but raise more questions.

“If that’s true,” he said, “why isn’t Syldron here? He’s a Twi’lek like you. Surely, you’d have more success with him.”

The eye piece’s glow seemed to intensify.

“These events,” Narzu’chev intoned, “are centred around you. I sensed it the moment I laid eyes on you, Jett Jhazar. Urza, my sister, is no Jedi but she too has a strong connection to the Force. She confirmed my suspicions when she told me that the shatterpoints she sees all around her converge on your essence. You alone will determine the fate of this planet and, perhaps, the entire Republic.”

Confusion, guilt and incredulity hit Jett all at once.

“How can she be sure of that?”

Narzu’chev’s mouth became a thin line. “She is rarely, if ever, wrong. It’s why I keep her close. Her counsel is invaluable to me. Of everyone in our meeting earlier, she alone thought you were purest of intentions.”

Jett wasn’t sure how she managed to ascertain anything so unlikely but didn’t question it. Instead, he asked, “If this thing is so good at seeing the future, how come you didn’t see your Human crewmates — Kane and the other one — getting captured by the White Claw?”

For the first time, Narzu’chev looked away in what was an unmistakable shame.

“That was an oversight on my part,” he muttered. “I was overconfident. I had such faith in them both that I thought they would succeed in penetrating the White Claw within a matter of days. I was, as it turned out, gravely mistaken. Had I used this…” He gestured at the bowl. “I may have been able to reverse their fates. But even then that would be unwise; those who try to change their destinies end up bringing it into fruition.”

“Has that ever happened to you?” Jett asked. “When you use this thing and you see a rival pirate gang attack you, did you go out of your way to avoid it?”

Narzu’chev thought for a moment.

“No,” he said, “because, thank the Force, such a thing has never occurred. I always worry about that changing someday, but so far my luck has remained firm.”

“Master Satele says luck is a myth,” Jett said almost without thinking. “Everything that appears to be luck or coincidence is the workings of the Force.”

Narzu’chev laughed.

“Typical Jedi dogma,” he said, almost fondly. “So wrapped up in their bubble that they have no real idea how the universe works.”

“Is that why you left?”

His smile vanished but not because he was annoyed.

“Partly,” he said. “But there were other reasons too. It is a long story and one I will not go into tonight. Right now, we must prepare ourselves.” He pressed his hands against his thighs. “Let us meditate.”

Jett imitated him, his pulse quickening. The thought of plunging into the Force to gaze into the face of time filled him with dread.

“Gaze into the bowl,” Narzu’chev commanded. “And breathe deeply.”

Jett obeyed, leaning forward until his face was a centimetre away from the eerie substance. As though it sensed his presence, it began to ripple and swirl, quickening with every second that past. His nose was suddenly full of a strong and familiar scent though he could not quite place it — dry grass and the warm haze of a summer breeze. Instinctively, he shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was standing on a hillock overlooking a vast savannah. An enormous yellow sun blazed in the sky, making waves of intense heat ripple in the air. It was so strong that Jett could feel its warmth on his whiskers. Around him, thigh-high blades of grass danced in the breeze and the chirping of many insects filled his ears. He heard laughter. Turning, he saw an entourage of bipedal figures carrying the furry body of a horned marsupial. The figures were mainly children, but a few adults smiled as they watched their young chase each other through the grass, heading for a gigantic tree whose trunk bore a picture of a hunter carved into its bark. The entourage all bore feline features with brown, black and tan-coloured fur.

Jett’s delight was almost too much for him to bear. He was on Cathar! It had been so long since he’d visited his homeworld, he had forgotten what the air smelt like. He moved forward, hailing the figures who were over a dozen metres from where he stood. They must have been on their way back to the City Tree from a blood hunt. A part of him had wished he’d arrived sooner so that he might have joined them.

He had barely gone a dozen steps before he came to a halt, knee-deep in the yellow grass. His joy fizzled out as a single burning question entered his mind. _Why_ was he on Cathar? What did it have to do with what was happening on Coruscant? As though answering his unspoken question, he heard the laughing children fall silent and the land darkened around him.

He glanced up.

A Republic warship — a Hammerhead-class cruiser — had blotted out the sun. Normally, the sight would’ve been reassuring. But something was menacing about it as it loomed over the hunting party, casting even the City Tree in shadow. Before he had a chance to shout a warning, Jett saw the turrets swivel downwards.

A second later, it fired.

Green laser bolts hit the landscape like emerald lightning. The explosion sent Jett flying backwards. He landed hard on his back several metres away but got up quickly just as the Hammerhead opened fire again, this time on the City Tree which burst into flames.

“No,” Jett whispered. “No!”

He saw the bodies of the other Cathar, splayed out in the grass, as lifeless as the marsupial they’d hunted. One of the bodies had landed beside him, half its skull missing, its scorched fur filling his nose and lungs.

It was one of the children.

Above, more Hammerhead ships appeared looming over the savannah, like clouds of enormous insects. There were hundreds of them – thousands! And displayed prominently on each of their hulls was a claw mark branded in white.

The bombardment began in earnest. The landscape flashed green as dead earth was churned up and other city trees were fired upon. Soon there was nothing left. The sky was red with a thousand fires. Cathar men, women and children fled from troopers aiming blasters at them and firing into their backs, as cold and mercilessly as the Mandalorians had done when they invaded hundreds of years ago.

Now the survivors were in chains, forced to build new sky towers on Cathar’s surface by Humans dressed in Republic uniform. Any Cathar that stumbled or slacked in their work was whipped. Cubs were forcibly separated from their mothers while their fathers were shot in front of them. Meanwhile, the dead were piled into giant pits in a mockery of a burial.

“ _No!_ ”

Jett sank to his knees. Ash was choking his lungs. He felt the sting of a thousand whip lashes against his back, could hear the world cry out in pain as the Human slavers made pelts out of the skin of his people, wore their teeth as jewellery and set fire to their great City Tree tapestries just so they could laugh at the despairing slaves who bore witness to it.

He clamped his eyes shut again, willing for it all to stop. All the sounds of the burning and the dying faded away. Slowly, he opened them again.

What he saw now brought no joy to his heart.

Now he was on Tython. The landscape was grey and barren, the usually verdant lifeforms all but rotting carcasses on the banks of the river Tythos. The Great Jedi Temple was in ruins. The sanctuary that the Order had worked so hard to build after the Sacking of Coruscant was now nothing more than a series of crumbling walls and collapsed archways. There was nobody in sight. Even the Flesh Raiders had looted the place for all it was worth. Nothing remained except for the tattered Imperial flag rippling on the rooftop. Over the Imperial emblem, the white claw print had been crudely painted. Inside the walls of the temple, the words “HUMAN PROSPERITY, HUMAN MIGHT” and “ALL HAIL THE WHITE CLAW” and “ALIEN SCUM” were scrawled in Aurebesh

He had hardly entered the ruin when he saw the corpses littering the inner sanctum. The whole Jedi Council — Master Braga, Master Kiwiiks, Master Tralesse, and even Master Satele herself — lay broken and maimed among the rubble, missing eyes and limbs, their lightsabres having been cruelly turned and used upon their masters.

Worse still were the two bodies that lay beside them. Syldron, eyes wide with terror, lay sprawled out at an odd angle, his robotic fingers missing. Beside him was Master Linn, her breath mask nowhere to be seen, exposing her Kel-Dor features to the oxygen-rich atmosphere which had doubtless poisoned her.

“Why couldn’t you save us?”

The voice, jagged and husky, came from behind him. Jett spun around and immediately recoiled. The body of Satele Shan had sat up, staring at him with her dead eyes, her disfigured jaw creaking open and shut. Around her, the other dead council members did the same, their heads rotating grotesquely to face him.

“Why couldn’t you save us?”

Master Satele’s cadaver lurched to its feet. The rumbling sound of shifting debris filled his ears as other dead Jedi emerged from under the fallen masonry. They advanced towards him, maimed limbs outstretched.

“You failed,” croaked Master Linn as she and Syldron joined the masses of the dead. “You failed to master yourself and we paid the price.”

“I’m sorry,” Jett said, feeling as though a razor had got stuck in his throat. “Please, forgive me. I’m sorry!”

The heedless swarm continued their advance. There were hundreds of them, all terrible in their white dead stares as they clawed and snapped at him. Jett activated his lightsabre, chopping the nearest ones in half, blasting others away using the Force. But it had little effect; they kept on coming. And he was surrounded. The stink of rotting flesh overwhelmed him.

“No,” he said again. “Please! _No!”_

Dozens of hands grabbed at him and no matter how many he sliced, they writhed and wriggled, burrowing into his fur to reach the flesh beneath.

He screamed.

Darkness filled his vision once again. When it cleared, he found himself in a dark room save for a spotlight in its centre. His breath hitched as he recognised the figure slumped in the chair in the middle of it, hands bound behind his back.

Theron looked barely conscious. His face was riddled with bruises and cuts. Someone had forcibly extracted his implant, leaving a comma-shaped wound in the side of his head. It went so deep it exposed the white of his skull.

Jett rushed forward, taking Theron’s dear face in his hands.

“Theron? Theron, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

Theron didn’t seem to recognise him. His eyes rolled sickeningly as his head lolled forward again. His undershirt shifted to reveal the deep claw marks buried into his skin. Claw marks that looked familiar.

Jett reached for the bonds but before he could untie them, a snap-hiss behind him made him spin round. A masked figure clad in white robes stood in the shadows, a crimson blade of shimmering plasma sizzling at its side. It was staring at Jett and although he couldn’t see the figure’s eyes, he felt its gaze penetrating him.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What have you done to Theron?”

The figure said nothing. Its visor flashed scarlet as it lunged forward. Jett activated his lightsabre just in time to parry the blows that came at him fast and quick. Never had he faced a more ferocious opponent. The masked figure was lithe and agile, ducking and weaving and coming at Jett from unorthodox angles. He only managed to stave his opponent off by pushing back with aggressive counters. He could feel the rage building in him again, the primal heat that coursed through his veins as easily as his Cathar DNA, filling him with the lust for the hunt.

After what felt like an eternity — or perhaps it was only a few minutes — he saw his opening and seized it. 

With a roar, he swung his lightsabre with tremendous force. It sliced easily through his foe’s neck and, a second later, the masked head rolled off its shoulders, coming to a halt in another empty patch of light. The rest of the body crumpled and dissolved into dust. Ignoring it, Jett went over to the decapitated head. It had cracked open and the face that stared out of him—

He almost cried out in shock.

It was _his_ face! Grinning with gleeful malice. Except it wasn’t quite his face. His dark fur was bleached entirely white and his usually green eyes had become as scarlet as the red blade he’d just fought.

“You cannot fight your deeper nature,” the head told him in his own voice. “It is like fighting the wind.”

The next thing he knew, he was falling backwards — down, down, down until his back hit the hard floor.

He blinked.

Narzu’chev was kneeling opposite him, his gaze as unfathomable as ever. The bowl that sat between them still glowed blue but it was now smoking slightly as if someone had extinguished a fire that had broken out over it.

Slowly, Jett sat up. He was panting. His hands and feet were drenched in sweat. His tongue felt rough and dry. It was as though he’d just woken from a hideous nightmare.

“I know what you saw,” the Twi’lek said. “I saw it too.”

Jett didn’t know what to say. He was still trying to get his head around everything he had witnessed.

“What did it all mean?” His voice was small, like a frightened cub’s. When Narzu’chev didn’t answer, he said, “That can’t all be true, can it? That’s not all going to happen? It…. It can’t!”

A touch of sorrow entered the Twi’lek’s gaze.

“I cannot answer that.”

Jett stared at the blue substance, hating the sight of it. It swirled innocently against the sides of the bowl, as innocuous as a pond in a local park.

“But why me?” he demanded. “Why is all this down to me? I’m not special! I’m not even among the best of the Jedi! I can’t even control my _rakktarr_. How am I supposed to stop the galaxy being taken over by the White Claw?”

“That’s something else I cannot answer,” Narzu’chev replied, infuriatingly calm.

“Then what good are you?” Jett sprang to his feet. “I thought that bowl would show me how I beat them. But all it did was show me what would happen if we fail. If _I_ fail. And if what you say about this thing is true, then what use is it for me to even try?”

Another silence elapsed.

“Are you going to abandon your mission, then?” Narzu’chev asked. “Go back to Master Linn and tell her that you gave up?”

Jett’s fist shook in anger.

“Of course not!”

“Well, then,” Narzu’chev said. “It isn’t pointless to try, is it? It’s like I said: the future is always in motion. What you saw maybe one of many possible outcomes.”

“But you said—”

“This bowl is little more than a tuning fork. It helps those to see the future with more clarity. But it does not set that future in stone. You will, however, set it in stone if you chose to turn your back on your mission.”

“But—“

“Even if there is only the slightest chance you will find the White Claw and finish them off, it’s still better than doing nothing because then you will have no chance.”

Jett glared at him. He now wished bitterly that he had stayed in bed. He left without another word, heading straight back to his quarters where Theron and Syldron still lay sleeping. An immense sadness clenched at his heart as his gaze brushed over his Twi’lek comrade. And Theron… He couldn’t get the image of his beaten and broken body out of his head. That gaping wound exposing his skull. Deep claw marks in his skin.

As he lay back down, he flexed and unflexed his claws, doggedly counting to a hundred. Whatever visions he’d witnessed tonight, they were _not_ going to come true. He was sure of it. In a few hours, he was going down to Level 157, find the White Claw and beat them. Even if it cost him his own life.

 _At least,_ he said to himself before shutting his eyes, _Theron will be safe._


	17. Hummingbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything now in place, Jett Theron and Syldron prepare to take themselves down into the lower underlevels. However, doubts begin to surface as previously unmentioned details of their plan are brought to their attention.

“Citizens of the Republic. As your Supreme Chancellor, it is my duty to protect you from every danger that threatens to destabilise our great civilisation. Whether that threat hails from the Sith Empire or a band of domestic terrorists, I am honour-bound to do everything in my power to ensure your safety and security.”

Chancellor Saresh’s face looked flushed even in the blue light of her holo-form. She probably thought she was giving them all a determined glare, but all it did was make her look flustered. It didn’t help that her lekku did nothing but twitch as she spoke, her voice rising and falling in agitation.

“I understand that many are unhappy with the curfew. I understand that the measure of rolling out Republic troops onto the streets of Coruscant may seem a little extreme. However, these measures are only temporary until such time that the terrorist group calling itself the ‘White Claw’ is brought to justice. Since last night, they have attacked three more strongholds spread across the planet, all known strongholds for non-Human sentients. I imagine this was in retaliation of my refusal to step aside.” She raised a fist and clenched it in front of her glaring face. “But I assure you, as long as there is breath in my body, no amount of threats will bully me into surrendering my office. As your leader, I stand firm against these traitors and advise that they stand down or else they will have the full might of the Republic military raining on their doorstep within a matter of hours…”

Nobody spoke as the Chancellor continued her speech. Theron sat gazing at the holoprojector in The Neutron Star’s main Longue with a gloved hand over his mouth, frowning. Syldron did the same, arms folded, his own lekku twitching as much as the Chancellor. Jett, on the other hand, could do nothing but stare at the sticky, barely-mopped floor. It was the morning after they met with Narzu’chev and now The Neutron Star was empty, it looked far bigger than it did the previous evening. Regardless, it only showed how dirty the place truly was.

Jett hardly noticed. Ever since returning to bed, he barely slept a wink. He could not get the images of that vision out of his head. Again and again, he saw the Republic ships reigning fire down on Cathar, the Jedi corpses slowly returning to life, Theron beaten nearly to death, and his face — his own _face —_ grinning at him from that insidious mask. The more he thought about it, the more real it all seemed, almost the reverse of a bad dream.

 _It can’t happen_ , he kept telling himself. _Surely, it can’t!_

He hadn’t confided in the other two about his experience. Even though Syldron was a Jedi, he felt that he would offer only the same platitude any other master would: “The Future is always changing. What you saw is only a _possible_ future.”

Would he say the same if Jett told him he’d seen his corpse lying in the rubble of the Jedi Temple? Somehow, he doubted it.

And what of Theron? Several times that morning alone, Jett had come a hair’s breadth away from confiding in him, but he lost courage every time. A small voice in his head had told him, hopefully, that if he kept it to himself then, perhaps, none of it would come true. If he spoke of it aloud, made it concrete, then—

The Chancellor’s message had ended and Theron switched off the holo. His face was full of disgust as he shook his head at thin air.

“What an idiot!” He kicked the projector's underside, then winced. “Not only does she stubbornly stand against what has to be the deadliest band of fanatics on the face of Coruscant, she calls their bluff and openly declares war on them! Never mind the thousands of beings who’ll die in the process, as long as _she_ looks good…”

He sat down again, muttering as he massaged his foot.

“You think she should’ve stepped aside?”

It was Syldron who’d spoken. His voice was calm enough to rival Master Linn’s, or even Narzu’chev’s, but his gaze was anything but. He was glaring at Theron.

“Of course I don’t,” Theron snapped. “I get she has to appear strong in the face of such a lethal force. But did she have to threaten them so openly? Instead of reinforcing her position, she’s potentially gone and made things worse.”

“And how would you have dealt with it?”

“I don’t know! I’m no leader. But I’m sure opening herself up to negotiations would be better than open warfare.”

“That would be tantamount to acknowledging the White Claw’s beliefs as a legitimate ideology,” Syldron said. “As soon as you open the floor for debate, you recognise the enemy as an opponent whose stance isn’t built on hatred.”

“She doesn’t have to do that. All she has to do is ask what they want and use it to form some sort of compromise.”

“ _Compromise_?” The calm façade cracked a little. “You want her to compromise with these people when they’ve made it clear that all they want is for her to surrender her power base?”

“It would save more lives, for sure.”

Syldron wrinkled his nose.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered, folding his arms.

“What?” Theron scowled at him. “What do you mean ‘should’ve known’?”

“You’re Human,” Syldron responded and Jett had never heard such disdain in his voice. “You could never understand the plight we non-Humans face daily, especially Twi’leks. Wherever we go in the galaxy, whether it be Republic or Empire, we’re always seen as inferior — our opinions are ignored and our expertise is used only to benefit the usually Human superiors who rule over us. Even if the Republic isn’t openly pro-Human, I’ve heard many call me ‘tentacle head’ or address my Human Jedi counterparts because they assume I can’t speak Basic.” He gestured at the silent holo-projector. “Are you aware how much of our kind has fallen into slavery, Theron? Do you even know that Chancellor Saresh herself was once a slave?”

“Of course I’m aware,” Theron growled. “And that has no impact on my opinion of her as a leader, nor should it. Human or no, she’s making a huge mistake and could be leading us all to ruin. If you ask me, you seem biased in her favour because you both happen to be the same species…”

As the two of them continued their heated discussion, Jett allowed his mind to wander, though where it ended up was no less pleasant.

_They were all dead. All of them._

“…and I find it very interesting,” Syldron was saying, all pretence of calm now abandoned, “how the discourse surrounding the competency of a supreme chancellor never seemed so widespread while Janarus was in power.”

“That’s because Janarus never made any stupid decisions,” Theron snapped.

“And I also find it peculiar,” Syldron said, ignoring him, “how you tell me to watch _my_ biases when you have hung yours out to dry for all to see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re an intelligent man. Why don’t you figure it out?”

“I don’t hate Saresh because she’s a Twi’lek if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Then maybe you ought to consider the fact I don’t support her purely because she and I both happen to be Twi’leks!”

“You support her then for bringing Coruscant under martial law for the first time in centuries?”

“No. I support her decision to stand firm against a bunch of lunatics who would rather see me dead. No other leader would have the backbone to do it and I’m glad she’s holding against them. She knows how important her position is and how much it means to the rest of our kind. After all, when was the last time the Supreme Chancellor was non-Human, let alone a Twi’lek? For us, she represents all we could be, all we aspire to be. She tells us that, though half the galaxy sees us as nothing better than slaves, we can make it if we want to and that we should never back down from tyranny because complacency is death.”

The two glared at each other for a long while, almost to the point Jett was convinced they’d throw a punch at one another. Before any such thing could happen, however, Daggonath appeared, marching through the entrance with a sense of urgency that seemed to make Theron and Syldron forget all about their argument.

“Your transport is here,” he said without greeting them. “I suggest we get ready to move out as soon as possible.”

Jett blinked in astonishment. “What about our false ID pads?”

Daggonath waved a hand. “That’s all been taken care off. Now hurry!”

Dazed, all three of them went back up to their quarters to change into the uniform black jumpsuits provided by Narzu’chev to complete their disguise as a cargo shipping crew. Jett’s jumpsuit was a little tight and his fur rubbed against it in a way that made his skin itch, but he didn’t complain as they rejoined Daggonath in front of the bar. He too had changed into a black jumpsuit and, for a wild moment, Jett wondered whether he was coming with them down to Level 157. But the question was answered for him as Daggonath announced, “I’m going to fly you to the shipping port as though I’m your boss sending you on your way. Be sure to maintain the pretence as soon as we arrive. If you don’t, there will be consequences and your mission will fail before it begins. Understand?”

All three of them nodded.

“Take these.”

Daggonath handed them all blaster pistol that blended easily with the colour of their new uniforms.

“Standard issue L-403 pulse interceptors,” the blue Twi’lek explained. “Mandatory equipment for Core Crest cargo shippers. Your lightsabres might be more efficient in dealing with whatever you’ll encounter down on Level 157 but it’ll be a dead giveaway to anyone from Black Sun you happen to pass. But who knows? They might come in handy.”

Weighing the blaster in his hand, Jett hoped he would never need it — at least, not before they descended the Underworld Portal, at any rate. The blaster felt clumsy and awkward in his palm, nowhere near as satisfying to hold as the sleek finish of his lightsabre hilt which he had concealed in a pouch behind his back in case this blaster should ever fail him. Still, he knew Daggonath had a point so holstered it and followed him out of the door, the other two bringing up the rear.

Though they remained civil, the discussion about Saresh hung between Theron and Syldron like a cloud of Gamorrean thunder wasps. Jett wondered if their differences would affect the outcome of the mission. He had to admit, he was a little disappointed in Syldron’s attitude in particular. Though he understood his reasons, supporting the Chancellor’s decision at this stage was ludicrous. Whatever he said about biases, as a Jedi, Syldron should’ve known better than to let his personal feelings get in the way. Then again, could the two of them even consider themselves Jedi anymore? They’d snuck out of the Senate Building, evaded the authorities and made deals with a known outlaw. Surely, they were as good as expelled from the Order.

They piled into a large speeder that waited for them out on the pavement. Jett was half-surprised it hadn’t been stolen or, at the very least, defaced. While there was still no daylight reaching the street, there were a lot more people around than there had been the night before, many of whom glancing at the speeder with something like longing or malcontent in their eyes. No doubt it cost more than what they earned in five standard years, and all it was used for was to ferry Core Crest workers to and from the ship port.

Within minutes they were off, going at a reasonable pace at first, only to come to a sluggish crawl two or three streets from The Neutron Star. The pavements and the road were packed with market stalls, public speeder buses, hooligans on airbikes, and schoolchildren being led across the road by teachers who seemed determined to get them inside as quickly as possible. The air was full of honking, yelling, revving engines, blasting music and a thin sheen of smog that hung in the air like an unwanted visitor. Beside him, Jett heard Theron cough and he wondered how long it would be before they were forced to wear breath masks. Plenty of locals were doing so. Half their faces were hidden behind grill-pads that worked overtime purifying the air before it entered their lungs. Then again, Master Linn had no choice but to wear hers all the time whenever she was on an oxygen-rich planet. If she could get used it, surely they could.

Jett shook his head. He didn’t want to think about Master Linn. Quite besides the almighty hell she would raise knowing what he’d done, he could not wipe the image of her corpse slowly shuffling back to life from his mind.

 _If you fail in this then it won’t be long before she will no longer need her mask._

Soon the residential blocks fell away and Daggonath floored it, the speeder hurtling closer to the port. The dank air whipped at their hair but it was oddly quiet now they were away from the crowds. The only thing that could be heard was the speeder engine which whirred loudly enough for them to have a whispered conversation, something Theron used to his advantage.

“I don’t like this,” he said. “They told us it would take a day for our fake documents to come through, and this morning they arrive just like that?”

Jett looked at him, surprised.

“Maybe they managed to get it quicker than they thought they could.”

“Maybe.” Theron glanced at the back of Daggonath’s blue head. “Or maybe this is another trap.”

Despite himself, Jett smiled. “Is it in your job description to always be suspicious?”

But Theron didn’t laugh. “They said they were watching us before we even stepped into the club. And they _are_ crooks. Who knows what they’re capable of?”

“You don’t trust Narzu’chev? You’re the one who introduced us to him.”

“That was before I knew he was spying on me.”

Theron rubbed his chin as he continued to regard Daggonath’s lekku hanging behind the driver’s seat. It was this that made Jett wonder for the first time if there hadn’t been a kernel of truth in what Syldron had said earlier. Though Theron was far from a pro-Human fascist, the simple fact of being Human must have cultivated some kind of bias, whether he was aware of it or not.

“Narzu’chev is on our side,” he said to reassure him.

“How do you know that?”

“Just a feeling.”

“A Jedi feeling?”

“Maybe. But he’s a good man. I believe he wants to take the White Claw down as much as we do.”

“Well,” he said, “let’s hope his minions share the same convictions.”

It took another hour before they reached the port. They sped past enormous factory complexes as well as larger airways and strips of road arcing, looping and crisscrossing over their heads to make up a complex spaghetti junction of underworld traffic. Once, a speeder bike gang swooped overhead, nearly colliding with them as they almost clipped their roof beam, speeding off in the wrong direction. Soon after, the famed underlevel security force hared after them in a speeder that flashed blue and red, letting loose a wailing siren that made the fur on Jett’s neck bristle.

Finally, the sight of enormous cargo vessels loomed into view and, beyond it, the bottomless pit known only as the Portal. From here, it looked to be as part of the cityscape as the buildings and roads that rose around them. But once they got closer, Jett knew he would feel the stomach-churning lurch that often came when peering into an endless abyss. They had over a thousand levels to descend. How long would it be before the surface level felt as though it were in a different star system?

His unease spiked as they drew closer to the access point. White-armoured Republic troopers were standing guard at the gates, faces hidden beneath their plastoid helmets. Even at this distance, Jett could see the rifles clasped in their hands. In the passenger seat, Syldron turned to glance at him, his brow creased with anxiety. Theron, meanwhile, stiffened, hand reaching down for the standard-issue blaster at his hip. Jett found himself doing the same, making sure the stun option was switched on.

Daggonath must have noticed.

“Relax!” he said. “Let me take care of this.”

The speeder slowed until it came to a halt behind the line of vehicles queuing to get into the port. It took some time before they reached the front and when they did, Daggonath hailed the solider at the gate as though he regularly stopped by there. The soldier stepped forward, leaning into the speeder.

“Identification, please.” He sounded bored.

“Sure, no problem,” Daggonath said, reaching for the datapad on the dashboard and presenting it to the trooper.

A long second passed in which Jett has convinced the soldier, or one of his comrades manning the other gates, would recognise them. He imitated Theron in keeping his face downwards so as not to give himself away. Discreetly, he gathered the Force within himself. He would use a mind-trick if necessary, though he was no longer confident it would work. It didn’t seem to last time.

“That seems to be in order,” the trooper said, mercifully. He opened the gate and waved them through. “You want Dock 94. Move along!”

Relief washing through him, Jett watched as the gate and the troopers receded and the many docks and ships loomed larger than ever, rising even above the roof of the terminals that held them. Jett had never seen so many ships gathered in one space, not even at the spaceport outside Senate Plaza. Cargo ships the size of cathedrals floated over the lip of the duracrete, their shadows blocking out what little natural light managed to reach them down at this level. Passenger transports and star ferries, as well as shuttles, also dominated the view, many accepting the offering of countless civilian passengers who piled on while still riding their speeders, their trunks filled to overflowing with luggage. Wherever they were going in search of a better life, it had to be better than here. The deafening rumble of ion engines was constant, making Jett wonder how anyone could work here without going deaf. The air was clogged with dust and fumes, making him wish more than ever that he had a breath mask. It occurred to him that this may be the last time he would get to breathe “fresh air” again. He eyed each vessel as they passed, wondering which of their bellies he, Syldron and Theron would be stuffed into, smuggled on board like a crate of spice.

But they continued on, cresting around the enormous curve of the Portal towards the terminals that hosted multiple, smaller means of transport. Finally, they pulled up towards one of the smallest where only one ship appeared to be docked. Halting on the quay, Jett stared at the bucket of bolts that was supposed to take them safely down to Level 157.

“What a piece of junk!” he couldn’t help but cry as the speeder came to a stop and Daggonath jumped out.

“Watch out, loudmouth!” Daggonath snapped, taking Jett aback for a second before remembering he was playing the part of their rather brusque employer. “If you want to go down there in five class comfort and smiles, be my guest! But you won’t be working another shipment again. So zip it!”

“Sorry, sir,” Jett grumbled, though his dismay was genuine.

“Besides,” Daggonath continued, hitching on a prideful grin. “This ‘piece-of-junk’ has got me out of a fair few scrapes, let me tell you! Old _Hummingbird_ here might look small and rusty but she’s fast.”

Either his acting was that good or he genuinely believed that the rustbucket they were all regarding could outstrip passing butterflies. Regardless, Jett thought Daggonath needed better taste in ships. The _Hummingbird_ was little more than an oversized air speeder with a T-shaped cockpit. Observing its peeling grey paintwork and the Aurebesh letters scrawled on its hull, Jett was surprised the thing managed to stay in the air. He guessed the thing could carry no more than three passengers and whatever cargo they had to deliver must’ve been small as its hold looked hardly much bigger than the ground floor of The Neutron Star.

Clambering out of the speeder, they made their way up the gangplank towards the open hatchway. Beside it was a second hatch where two port staff were loading an enormous crate onto the ship via a conveyor belt. They finished loading when one of them — a Human — looked up at Jett with a hostile expression on his face. He spat then followed his colleague back into the terminal.

“All right,” Daggonath said, business-like. “Cargo’s in the back. Whatever you do, don’t look inside. I know how bored you losers get when you’re stuck on a ship for hours but you mustn’t look, whatever you do.”

“Aw, come on, boss!” Theron whined, taking Jett by surprise. He had changed his accent to sound more Correllian and high-pitched, and the cringing look he gave Daggonath could have rivalled the greatest stage players on Alderaan. “Just a little peak, we deserve that much. Not like we’re being paid triple time for this run.”

“You’ll get what you get or you get nothing,” Daggonath snapped, jabbing his datapad at Theron’s chest. “And you won’t peak neither. Not even a little bit. Understand?” He led them all to the tiny cockpit where another Human sat hunched over the controls. “This is Del,” he said. “He’ll be your pilot. Would’ve taken you down myself but I’ve got to be on the other side of Coruscant this afternoon for another job.”

Jett caught the discreet look of concern that Theron flashed at him. Nobody said anything about a pilot.

“You didn’t have to do that, boss,” Theron said. “I could pilot this ship well enough.”

“I need you awake and ready by the time you get down there, something you won’t be if you’re all tuckered out from flying. And it takes three to lift this crate.”

Now Jett gave Theron a look. There had only been two men putting the crate on board. Was this just a throwaway excuse for the sake of any port staff who might be watching?

Once Daggonath took them through “the motions” — asking them if they knew the address, what to do once it was delivered, and if they remembered the way — he put his datapad under his arm and said, “Well, best of luck, then. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Within minutes, he’d departed the ship and sped away in the speeder they’d arrived in. Before Jett and Theron could exchange any more uneasy looks, the pilot called out to them, “Pulling up the hatch! We’ve got clearance to descend.”

There was an almighty screech and the hatchway sealed itself with what looked like a tremendous effort before the engines coughed to life and the _Hummingbird_ pushed away from the dock. It lurched slightly, making Jett nearly fall on Theron as they scrabbled to their seats. Soon, the _Hummingbird_ began its slow descent towards the lower levels of the planet. Through narrow viewports, Jett watched as other ships floated past them. He couldn’t help but notice that most were going up.

Unlike its namesake, the _Hummingbird_ was anything but quiet. It groaned and squeaked, lurching again once or twice and giving Jett the horrible feeling that they were going to plummet to the planet’s core at any moment. Before them, a holographic display of Coruscant materialised, evolving into a cutaway of the shaft they were now descending. The numbers beside it were rapidly going down from level 2465. Within fifteen minutes, they’d already passed a hundred levels.

It was at this point that Del put the ship on autopilot and joined them.

“You guys play Sabaac?” he grunted.

He was a greasy man with orange hair, on the latter half of middle-aged, and had a snide look about his watery eyes that Jett didn’t like. He smelled as if he hadn’t washed in several years.

“Not really,” Theron said, though it was doubtful this was true. More likely he wanted Del to leave them alone so that they could go over the finer details of their plan. After all, they had no idea how much this man knew.

“Shame,” Del said, placing one hand in his pocket, the other stroking a thumb over the handle of his blaster. “I was hoping you did. It’ll be several hours before we get where we need to be. Gotta find some way to pass the time.”

He then sat in a chair beside the viewport and got out his Sabaac cards anyway and started laying them out on an upturned crate. Not far behind him was the crate containing the cargo they were carrying.

“Any idea what’s in that thing?” he asked, doing his best to imitate the Corellian accent Theron had used earlier.

Del didn’t even look up.

“Nope,” he said. “They don’t tell me nothing. I just fly the ship up and down, up and down, all day every day.”

Jett leant forward, expecting him to elaborate. But he didn’t. Instead, he continued arranging his cards, the gentle flip of paper punctuating the rumbling silence. Now and then, he stretched, his hands always going back to his side, his thumb stroking the butt of his blaster.

“Ever run into trouble on any of your runs?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Plenty of times. But I doubt we’ll get any trouble today. The whole Republic’s gone crazy. All their security is focused on the upper levels. No one will bother us down here.”

“What about pirates?” Syldron asked. “Or smugglers?”

Del offered him a patronising smile.

“Young Twi’lek,” he said, “this ain’t Nar Shaddaa. As bad as things get on the lower levels of Coruscant, it’s nowhere close to the worst place in the galaxy. Trust me. You’ll be safe with me.”

“You’ve been down there often, then?”

“This is only my third run. But there’s no need to worry.” He returned to rearranging his cards. “You should get some rest. It’s a long way down.”


	18. Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Hummingbird continues its descent, Theron decided to do investigating, but things get out of hand and soon the strings of this plan reveal themselves.

A whole hour passed in silence, filled with little else but the dull thudding of the engines. As they continued the descent to Level 157, it seemed to grow darker until the _Hummingbird’s_ internal lighting flickered on. Fewer ships were seen down here and Jett found this a little unnerving; it was like being in the deep dark of outer space. Del went to check something in the cockpit once or twice before propping his feet up on the crate he’d used to sort his Sabaac cards, closed his eyes and began to snore. Only when he was sure that he was fast asleep did Theron cast one look at the crate on the other side of the hold and whisper to Jett, “So, what do you think?”

Jett shook his head. He noticed that Syldron, too, had dozed off, head resting against the bulkhead with his arms folded and a slight frown on his face.

“I don’t know,” he said, not daring to speak too loudly, although the chug of the engine doubtless made eavesdropping impossible. “He seems genuine enough.”

“I don’t like it,” Theron replied, screwing up his nose. “First the papers and now this. It feels too easy.”

Jett said nothing, fearful that in agreeing he’d confirm his own suspicions.

“Let’s take a look at what’s in the crate.”

Theron got up and crept towards the enormous white container. Jett followed him, making sure the Human pilot was still fast asleep before leaving his chair. There was a small holo-display on the front of the crate. Orange Aurebesh flashed at them but gave them no hint as to what the container hid inside. Theron pressed a few buttons only for it to buzz angrily, denying him access.

“Blast!” he said. “It requires an access code.”

“Can’t you slice the lock?”

“I could, but it will take a while.” He began to explore the crate by touch, focusing his attention around the holo-display as though hoping to discover some secret unlocking mechanism. “Why don’t you keep an eye on Greasy over there? Cough loudly or something if he starts to wake up.”

Nodding, Jett squeezed Theron’s shoulder before returning to his seat. He watched Del with the attentiveness of a sand hawk, determined to alert Theron if he so much as twitched. There was a scary moment when the ship jerked unpleasantly again, threatening to wake him. But the Human slept on, apparently oblivious to the idiosyncratic flying of his beloved _Hummingbird_.

The air in the cabin grew steadily warmer and closer until it was pressing on Jett like a heatwave. All those wakeful hours from the previous night were catching up with him. He forced himself to focus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he drew on the Force to sustain him. But the fatigue was relentless. It crept over him once more.

His eyes began to droop.

Red stars spiralled all around him. Fireflies! They teased him, looping and cartwheeling through the air. He tried to catch them. But his arms wouldn’t move. They continued to turn, revolving again and again to form a vague shape. Something… Something he knew he’d seen before but couldn’t recognise.

The floor titled without warning and his eyes snapped open. The cabin had once again rocked in its unsteady flight path, jolting him wide awake. It was worse than before. The _Hummingbird_ groaned in protest as if a giant hand had squeezed the hull from the outside. Speaking of outside, it had got a lot darker with fewer and fewer lights than the thousands of levels above them. Not only was it darker, but it was also redder. This was why it took Jett a moment to notice that Del was awake and staring right at him.

“Sleep good?” the Human asked.

Jett didn’t reply. He looked to his left. Theron had not returned to his seat. Neither was he bent over the crate trying to prise it open. He only saw Syldron who was still snoozing against the bulkhead.

“Where’s Th— my crewmate?” he demanded.

Del jerked his head. “In the refresher.”

Something else dawned slowly on Jett. “Why are we going so slowly?”

The _Hummingbird_ , which had been descending steadily since they started was now practically floating at a standstill in midair. The holo-display confirmed this, the miniature replica of the ship hovering between levels 160 and 159.

“I have to wait for clearance,” Del said, far too quickly.

Danger-sense rippled throughout Jett’s body, but he did not need the Force to see that something was wrong. The Human pilot was grinning at him, his right thumb once again caressing the handle of his blaster.

“What’s going on here?” Jett said, his voice a low and dangerous growl. “What have you done with Theron?”

Del’s grin widened.

Outside, an ion engine roared, dangerously close. Seconds later, another ship appeared coming to a stop right beside them. A blinding light blazed through the viewport, causing Jett to shield his eyes. In the momentary confusion, he didn’t see the butt of Del’s blaster coming towards his face. Next second, pain exploded between his eyes and he reeled back with a grunt, completely dazed. He tried to scrabble for his own blaster but the Human pilot, still grinning, yelled, “Make another move and I’ll shoot you in the head.”

Jett glowered at him, blood pouring from his nose.

“You traitorous little grease monkey!”

He brought up his blaster with the supernatural reflexes of his Jedi training and pulled the trigger in less time than it took to think. A dull, empty clink resounded throughout the cabin.

Del laughed as he stared at the barrel in shock.

“Stupid Cathar,” he said. “It’s fake! You should’ve checked the ammo clip before you got on board this ship.” He raised his blaster, aiming it at Jett’s face. “Don’t try to resist. I’ve taken down Wookies twice your size and that’s without the incentive of a reward. White Claw’s offering big money for you, the Human, and your little Twi’lek friend here. In a few hours, I’ll be moving into my castle on Alderaan while you will be floating in a cesspit, just where your kind belongs.”

He licked his lips, ready to pull the trigger.

“Put the gun down!”

Miraculously, Del did, his eyes glazing over.

“Lie on the floor.”

The Human lay on the grill plates as if sleep had overcome him. Amazed, Jett turned and saw that Syldron had awoken. He had probably been awake all along, only feigning sleep so he could come to the rescue at the right moment, using a mind trick to peacefully dispose of their captor. It wasn’t what Jett had in mind but he was grateful nonetheless.

Now, they had a bigger problem.

The ship jerked sideways as what felt like an enormous chunk of debris hit the hull with tremendous force. Jett looked up and saw a large, spiked hook had penetrated the cabin. Glancing out the viewport, he noticed a thick cable now stretched between them and the other vessel. The _Hummingbird_ jerked once again as the cable began pulling them towards it. The bulkheads groaned in protest, Any second, Jett was sure they would be ripped clean off.

“Get to the escape pod,” he told Syldron. “Quick!”

“Look out!” Syldron cried.

Jett felt the danger a second before it happened. Del had broken through his mind control and snuck up behind him. The stun bolt brushed his back as he spun out of the way, harmlessly hitting the crate on the other side of the cabin. Before Del could fire again, Jett brought out his lightsabre, activated it and sliced the man’s arm clean off at the elbow. Del’s face stretched wide with shock, his skin going white as he stared at the cauterised stump of his arm.

A colossal explosion sent them all hurling against the bulkhead. Dazed, Jett shook his head clear enough to see that the entire left side of the _Hummingbird_ had peeled away, causing a hot wind to come flooding in. Beside him, Syldron got to his feet, seemingly unharmed, though he clutched his arm and winced. There was no sign of Del. Jett guessed he’d been blown straight out of the massive hole now in the side of the ship.

_That was less than what he deserved._

They had a full view of the other vessel now. Black-clad figures were sliding down the cable like a zip-wire towards them.

Gathering the Force, Jett propelled a huge wave of it towards them. The would-be boarders were swept off the cable and they fell screaming into the abyss below. But he knew more of them would come.

“Escape pod!” Jett roared. “Now!”

Syldron raced towards it but Jett went in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going?” the Twi’lek yelled over the wind which howled in their eardrums.

“To find Theron.”

He didn’t look back to see Syldron’s expression as he raced towards the refresher. He yanked the door open and was relieved to see Theron was inside, slumped unconscious against a storage cabinet, blood pouring down his face. For a moment, Jett was reminded vividly of his vision, of seeing Jett slumped in that chair, wounded and broken. He mentally brushed it away and swooped down to pick Theron up in both his arms. He seemed so light in his hold, so fragile. Jett swallowed his panic and made his way back across the ship to the escape pod.

Syldron was waiting inside. His eyes widened at the sight of Theron.

“What happened to him?”

“Never mind that now. Help me!”

Syldron assisted in bringing Theron’s limp form into the pod, resting him down on the seat opposite. Only once they’d finished did Jett notice another problem.

“There’s only room for two,” Syldron said.

Jett said nothing.

“Don’t you dare!” The Twi’lek’s lekku twitched with frustration and panic. “Jett, I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Take care of him for me,” Jett said. “I’ll meet you at the coordinates.”

Before Syldron could protest further, Jett slammed down the hatch, sealing them inside, then punched the “eject” button. He saw through the tiny viewport the escape pod propel itself from the _Hummingbird_ , then heard the loud hiss as it flew away to safety.

_Safety, or into more danger?_

There was no time to think about that now. He turned, reactivating his blade as three more White Claw mercenaries landed on the _Hummingbird_ ’’s deck. They were all aiming blasters at him, crouching behind empty crates for cover. Like Del, they fired only stun bolts which Jett deflected with ease.

So, they really did want him alive. He must have made them pretty upset at the prison yesterday. This brought a smile to his face. Good. Let them come after him. Let them know what the consequences would be if any of them tried to bring him down.

Summoning the Force once again, he brought it up through his being and hurled it outwards, attempting to cast the invaders out of the ship to join the rest of their comrades. But as soon as it left his fingertips, it fizzled and died.

“No!” he choked. “Not now. Come on!”

A stun bolt slammed into his arm, and he cried out as it exploded in a series of pins and needles. His vision blacked out for a second but then he gritted his teeth and stood up straight. The attackers gasped.

“That stun bolt should’ve knocked out a bantha!” one of them exclaimed.

“Keep shooting you, idiot! Stun the freak.”

But their reaction cost them dearly. In the time it took for them to register Jett’s continued consciousness, he leapt towards them, letting out a roar as his lightsabre pierced one’s chest, then sliced open another’s throat. The third backed away but fell backwards over the upturned crate Del had used to sort his Sabaac cards then flew out of sight.

Another explosion, this time towards the rear of the ship. They had hit the engines. If he spent another moment here, he would fall with the wreckage.

He moved just as the _Hummingbird_ tilted, the instruments in the cockpit flashing and wailing uselessly. Using his working arm, he grabbed hold of the cable and felt his feet leave the deck until he was dangling hundreds of feet above total nothingness. As the _Hummingbird_ continued to fall, Jett glanced up at the enemy ship which was now directly above him, hovering over his head like a monstrous black hawk. His only hope was to climb aboard and commandeer it somehow. But with one arm out of commission, how was he supposed to do that? Already the muscles in his muscles were screaming with the pressure of holding onto the cable, taking his whole body weight.

“Come on,” he growled, trying to work the feeling back into his fingers. “Come _on!”_

The numbness spread from his arms into his shoulders and began to creep like Corellian multipedes throughout the rest of his body. His brain grew foggy until he nearly forgot he was dangling over oblivion. How easy it would be just to let go… But no! He _must_ cling on. He had to. If not for his sake, then for Theron’s. 

As darkness began to consume his vision, he fancied that the cable was pulling him upwards. But he had to be imagining it, surely. He was going down, not up. After all, he had let go of the cable. Stranger still, voices surrounded him, whispering things he could not understand.

“Secure the alien.”

“Where is the crate?”

“It’s safe. It’s in the hold.”

Soon, the darkness grew total until red stars spiralled before him and Jett knew no more.


	19. Albanar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to consciousness, Jett realises that he is now a captive of the enemy as the head of the White Claw finally shows his face.

He awoke with his chin resting against his bare chest. He jerked upright, head still spinning. For a moment, he wondered if he hadn’t died and been sent to some purgatory — he had heard Master Linn talk about a “netherworld” in the Force. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps, in his rashness and failure to suppress his _rakktarr,_ he had not been a good enough Jedi in life to warrant moving onto…

Wherever.

Then again, if he was dead, why did his head hurt so bad? Why was there dry blood under his nose? And what was he sitting on? For he was almost certainly _sitting_ on something. A chair. A metal chair of some kind. His arms were clasped behind its back. He tried to separate them but found he couldn’t. His wrists met the unwelcoming bite of durasteel bonds. So, he had been captured. Not killed. He was simultaneously marvelled and mystified. How in the blazes had he survived?

A light came on. Dim, flickering, but there nonetheless. He was in a room not too dissimilar to the interrogation room in the prison complex he had fought through two days ago. Had it really been only two days? It felt like a lifetime. Then again, he had no idea how long he had been out of it. That could’ve been days in of itself.

Looking around, he realised that he wasn’t alone.

Two White Claw agents stood either side of him, each armed with a vibroblade. Their trademark black masks and red goggles covered their faces but Jett did not doubt that they wore no expression underneath. Indeed, both stood with hands clasped behind their backs in a military-like fashion, not even glancing at him as he stirred and strained against his the durasteel binding him there.

“Hey,” he said, alarmed at how groggy he sounded. “What is this? Where am I?”

The guards did not respond. But he hadn’t expected them too. The act of speaking — opening his mouth and moistening his dry lips to form words — was more for reassuring himself that he really was alive.

_Alive but captured._

He thought of Theron, alone with Syldron somewhere in the underlevels. How close was he to him? Had they made it to the safehouse at the coordinates Narzu’chev had given them? A boiling rage rushed through his body as the Twi’lek’s name entered his mind. That treacherous scum! He had been in league with the White Claw all along. Why else would he send them into such an obvious trap? And why would his most trusted agents arm them with fake guns?

Slowly, he became aware of noises coming from outside the room. Footsteps. They grew closer and closer until a door opened off to his left and three people stepped in. Two were more White Claw agents. The third was a tall Human with shoulder-length white hair, who wore a tunic that was also white apart from the crimson belt which divided his torso from his long, slender legs. His most striking garment, however, was the large choker clasped around his neck. It was a gaudy thing with a bright red jewel in its centre. It glimmered in the light as he made his way forward.

Jett squinted at him. The Human didn’t appear to be that old. He would’ve said he was the same age as Theron. And yet, he commanded a terrible presence, his erect posture showing nothing less than absolute conviction — a man possessed with simple yet terrible ideals, ideals that could burn worlds and devour stars, ideals that divided civilisations and brought down empires.

 _This is their leader_. _It has to be._

The guards, including the ones beside him, stood to rigid attention as the white-haired man halted before him, their reverence and their fear for him sending palpable waves through the Force.

“Ah-ha!” the man said with an air of a parent catching their youngling performing mischief. “He has awakened.”

As he stepped into the light, his pale features were thrown into sharper relief. Jett squinted. He wasn’t sure if it was his drowsiness but there was something off about the man’s face. Not only was it perfectly smooth — Human faces, he knew, carried all sorts of blemishes that not even anti-ageing cosmetics could fully conceal — but the light seemed almost to… He couldn’t describe it much better than as passing right through it. The rest of his body was perfectly substantial, wide-shouldered and solid. But his face could have belonged to a phantom. Jett was also surprised to see how red the irises of his eyes were. No, not quite red. More of a livid pink. He had no idea Humans could have pink eyes. Twi’leks, Zabraks and Togrutas maybe but not Humans.

There was something else.

Jett had not caught onto it at first as he was taken aback by the Human’s striking appearance. But as he focused in on him, he felt something that made him reel back in his chair as though cold water had been thrown in his face. The man emanated the power of the Dark Side. It came at him in chilling waves, like the cold tendrils of a snowstorm on Hoth, and yet it burned with a wildness of a forest fire on Cathar.

“I suppose you’re wondering why we didn’t kill you.” 

The man’s voice was deep but soft, almost a purr. A slight smile appeared on his lips and it struck Jett how good-looking he was, especially for a Human — high cheek-boned and sensuous. Had it not been for the off-putting quality of his face, he might have found him almost as attractive as Theron. Perhaps if he hadn’t smothered himself with so much sickly perfume, he might have aroused Jett’s interest.

“No,” he answered, at last, pleased to hear how much firmer his voice was now. “It’s obvious you need me for something. Otherwise, your minions would’ve just cut the cable and let me fall.”

“Very astute,” the Human replied, raising his eyebrows. “I’m impressed an animal like you could make such deductions. Then again, even I must concede that there are beings in this galaxy with intelligence that almost matches that of Humans. Almost. For Cathar, however, I pegged your people as nothing more than mindless beasts.”

“You’re gravely mistaken,” Jett said, his Jedi discipline hiding his contempt. At least, for now.

The man shrugged. “Oh, I suppose I am. After all, I could easily mistake your kind for Wookies. All that hair and growling and blood hunting… Sometimes, it’s difficult to tell primitives apart from one another.” He snapped a white-gloved finger and one of the guards brought a chair forward for him to sit down on which he did with an infuriating grace. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lord Albanar.”

“Are you Sith?”

The question burst from Jett before he could stop it, but everything about the Human — his stance, his power in the Force, even his title — pointed to that conclusion. He had to be Sith or, at the very least, Imperial.

A small, tinkling laugh escaped the man’s delicate mouth.

“No,” he said, the red jewel in his choker winking. “Though I understand why you might think that. I suppose another Jedi, one who isn’t Cathar, might have deduced otherwise but there you are. No, I am most certainly not Sith. I am a lifelong citizen of this beloved Republic of ours. Although, these past few years, I have become a rather concerned citizen, so concerned in fact that I have taken the trouble to make my concerns known to the powers that be.” He waved a hand. “Sadly, they chose to ignore my criticisms. So I thought other methods might make them more willing to listen.”

“Let me guess,” Jett said. “You see too many aliens in your daily stroll to the convenience store?”

Albanar tutted. “And here I was thinking you might understand higher concepts. Such a shame evolution gave your species such an unfortunate handicap.” He cleared his throat. “You seem to be labouring under the impression that I and, by extension, this organisation of mine are offended by the mere fact of aliens existing. Some in the White Claw might hold such, erm… _simplistic_ ideas but many more hold a much deeper understanding of the alien problem. You see, the Republic was founded by Humans. Oh, yes, aliens might have had some part in it, but mankind was there at the very beginning. They were the first colonists, reaching out towards the stars where they long-knew their destinies lay. They created democracy, freedom of speech and justice — core principles of the Republic itself — while also being the first to pioneer sub-light space travel. It was Corellian Humans, after all, who reverse-engineered Rakatan technology to travel through hyperspace which, I’m sure you’ll agree, would make our current way of living impossible if it had not come to be.

“Alas, not only are Humans the most populous species in the galaxy, we are inherently skilled in almost every known occupation. A Muun only has a mind for finance. A Hutt only has a mind for debauchery and organised crime. A Human’s mind, on the other hand, is malleable and highly evolved, not bound to the traits nature granted us. You can find Human smugglers, bounty hunters, diplomats, advisors, doctors, engineers, scientists, chefs, even Jedi. All you have to do is look and chances are you will find at least a million Humans per square kilometre on this planet alone. Humans have shaped the course of galactic history. Humans have brought down and revived the Republic and the Jedi Order time and time again. In short, without Humanity, the galaxy as we know it might never have existed.

“How is it, then, that positions and occupations designed for Humans — particularly positions of power — are increasingly being held by alien hands? How is it that a Rodian can be a senator when his species are nothing more than a gaggle of opportunistic slimeballs that can barely speak basic and hold the position of bounty hunting as a matter of creed? How is it a Bothan noble can push forward a law through the senate which benefits his homeworld and his homeworld alone while simultaneously weakening the Republic as a whole? How is it that a jumped-up Twi’lek governor, who was nothing but an Imperial slave before she became a political upstart, has been given the office of Supreme Chancellor of the Republic despite a history of incompetent leadership and controversial decisions? The answer is tolerance. Tolerance has brought aliens into these positions despite it being obvious that they are unfit for such responsibilities. It is not their fault — they have evolved a different way to us. No matter how hard they try, their inferior minds cannot fit into the positions Human beings created because it was not designed for them.

“And yet, to the Republic’s detriment, we allow such beings to fill these positions because we are a _tolerant_ society. We want to separate ourselves from the Empire who treat any non-Humans and non-Sith as nothing better than slaves. A noble goal, I will concede. But at what cost? Tell me, how does the starving Human child on Level 1312 benefit when a Zabrak demands the Senate that his people have a residence here on Coruscant without earning it? The answer is: they don’t. Many Humans suffer because alien interests come above their own. All in the name of tolerance.”

“The Senate can’t help everybody,” Jett retorted. “There are probably just as many starving non-Humans who get a lot less help.”

Albanar smiled. “Ah. I see you too have been brainwashed to believe of the so-called ‘Human bias’ that is supposed to exist in the Senate.”

“Of course it exists! How else could you buy off so many of them and infiltrate our security forces.”

“Only because they believe that their plights are ignored while their alien peers are unjustly prioritised.” Uncrossing his legs, Albanar leant forward slightly and spoke in his softest voice yet. “You seem to be labouring under the impression that the Senate as it currently stands has a genuine interest in the wellbeing of its citizens when, at best, all it cares about is keeping as many allies as it can in this pointless little war against the Sith Empire. At worst, the Senate is full of corrupt bureaucrats who’d sell their homeworld to the highest bidder if the opportunity came along. As a matter of fact, many of them have. Those who blame us for their kind’s enslavement need only to look at their own, non-Human senators to see who really put them in chains. All so they can make a few extra credits.”

Jett remained silent. He wasn’t sure if this was true or not; nothing about Albanar gave anything away. As much as he tried to deny it, however, a small voice in his head whispered the uncomfortable truth. He had heard stories of senators meeting clandestinely with shady organisations — the Hutt Cartel, the Shadow Syndicate, even Black Sun — to sign contracts or treaties that effectively passed ownership of their planets’ resources into their hands. Before, he had assumed that those senators had merely been acting out of what they thought was their world’s best interests. Had he been naïve? He suddenly had an image of a pale green Rodian twiddling its long fingers together as it passed over a signed datapad into the hands of a Weequay who then showed its Hutt master the proof of transaction. How many of those senators who’d sat before him after the attack on the Senate Tower had taken part in such shady dealings?

“You see,” Albanar said. “When you apply even a microcosm of critical thinking, even an alien such as yourself can see the obvious fallacy. There is no ‘Human bias’ in the Republic. If there was, why else would there be a Twi’lek Supreme Chancellor?”

“You still haven’t explained what’s going to happen to me,” Jett said, ignoring this. “If I’m such alien scum according to you, why am I still alive?”

“Well,” Albanar said. “I won’t deny that it would be much easier to kill you and leave your carcass rotting in the street or, better yet, the incinerator. But we might have some uses for you and for that it’s better to keep you alive. Alive, but sedated.”

He snapped his fingers again and, a second later, the door re-opened. More White Claw minions came into the room. With them, they brought an assortment of machinery — primarily a vitals display and a container of vibrant green fluid attached to a long pole and a series of syringes and tubes.

Jett tried to resist but his weakened state allowed the Humans to pin him in his seat while they took the needles and plunged them through his fur and into his skin. The sedative worked almost immediately. Drowsiness he had not felt even whilst blind drunk came over him. He tried to form words but his mouth felt numb and dry.

As though at the end of some kilometre-long tunnel, he heard Albanar say, “It might take you some time to get used to your treatments. But not to worry. We’ll make sure they won’t have any fatal consequences.”

Jett felt consciousness slip away from him again. His eyes rolled back up into his head and he surrendered to total oblivion.


	20. Patient Zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now a prisoner of the White Claw, Jett is exposed to all kinds of cruelty. But their game seems to be more complex than simple torment. A sinister plot begins to unravel, one which he is at the centre of. 
> 
> **WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of torture.**

Pain. Jett did not know how long he had been here, nor was he entirely sure where “here” was. In the few moments he submerged from the all-pervading blackness that lay just beneath the surface of his mind, he often found himself lying on a bed in a featureless room. At first, there had been chains around his wrists but they had since been removed. His captors no longer needed them.

If he were able to examine himself, he would see that he was still in the same Core Crest greaves and boots he’d worn on the _Hummingbird_. Not that he remembered the _Hummingbird_ anymore or what happened the morning they had taken him. There were large gaps in his memory, taken like slices of Gammorrean blood pie. The drugs, which they continuously pumped into his arm, had seen to that.

His shirt had not been replaced. Indeed, he’d been shirtless ever since he had first spoken to Lord Albanar and that was… How long now? Time had become a memory. He could have been here for hours, days, or even weeks. He had no way of knowing. The room the bed occupied had no windows, yet it always seemed brightly lit as if they wanted to deprive him of as much sleep as possible, “Just enough to make sure he’s rested… Then we can begin again.” Whenever he shut his eyes, all he heard was blaster fire, drumbeats, and distant mechanical thunder, noises that frightened him and elicited sobs of agony from his cracked and broken lips.

Consciousness was a ceaseless waking nightmare. All he needed to do was look down at the lacerations crisscrossing his chest and stomach, at the patches of bare skin where they had shaved his fur, and at the needles inserted at precise intervals up his right arm to know what was being done to him. Each needle had a specific purpose — one to administer the drugs, another to monitor his vitals, a third to “revive” him with an electric current if ever it was needed. Others were added and taken away at odd times depending on how much resistance he showed. This happened a lot in the beginning but after a while, they seemed to find just the right formula to keep him docile. Each dose of the drug was precisely measured. They made him constantly drowsy, but not so much that he did not feel the effects of their “experiments”. The aim here, it seemed, was to keep him from gathering his faculties so he could not use the Force against them. But he knew that, even if they hadn’t bothered, he would not have been able to summon it; he was little more than a caged animal now, prodded and poked and made to endure unimaginable agony so they could see the effects of whatever project it was they were working on.

He was able to gather that much, despite his weakened state. He heard them talking, his Cathar ears picking up their voices from what they thought was a safe distance.

“When did Lord Albanar say we could move onto the next stage?”

“As soon as we can determine how much this one can endure.”

From these conversations, Jett managed to piece together their motives. The White Claw didn’t want to kill him. Neither did they want to drive him mad. It seemed that their aim was more complicated than that.

“He makes an excellent test subject,” they had once said, “but I fear we might be reaching even his considerable limits. His Jedi indoctrination runs too deep.”

“He’s only an animal!” another had replied. “He will break eventually.”

How little they knew. There were times when Jett had come close to surrendering. He wanted to throw himself at their feet, to let them know he’d do whatever they wanted — anything to stop the pain. But they were right about one thing. He was a Jedi. A Jedi never surrendered to pain.

_There is no death. There is only the Force._

Regardless, what little food they deprived him of seemed to vanish altogether. He could feel his body diminishing as well as his sanity. They provided him with just enough water to keep him alive, teasingly dripping it over his gaping mouth because it amused them. If he didn’t play along, they’d tip the water on the floor and watch him struggle to lap it up, their laughter audible long after they left the room.

As much as he thought about death and how it would release him from his suffering, Jett did not want to die. He had long been robbed of the survival instinct found in every species, but he had one other reason to endure this hellish existence.

Theron.

In the long, long hours of solitude, Jett often thought about him. The image of his brown face, prominent cheekbones and straight nose provided him with more relief than he could have imagined. All he would have to do was shut his eyes and he could almost feel his dark hair between his fingers and his warm, slender body pressed against his own. At times, he even fancied he could smell muja fruit in the air. It seemed so real that he might look up and see his lover bending over him, smiling with both gratitude and sorrow.

“Oh, Jett! I’ve been looking everywhere for you…”

He knew these were little more than hallucinations brought about by delirium but he clung to them. As long as he thought of Theron, everything was going to be all right. Whatever came next, he was ready for it.

The door opened. Jett didn’t even try to look up to see who had entered. He had long ago learnt that any involuntary action was met with severe punishment. Regardless, he knew who it was — her scent had become all too familiar during this confinement. He knew her only as “the Director”, the Human who oversaw every single one of his treatments. She often visited him after the fact as if she wanted to ascertain the results for herself. Her scent was chemical and sterile, reminding Jett of the lab she must spend countless hours in. There was a rustle of fabric as she sat beside him. Trembling, he turned his head and looked directly into her eyes.

“What have they done to you?” Her delicate hand reached up and brushed a lock of his hair out of his eyes. “You poor thing. They went overboard again, didn’t they? I keep trying to warn them, but…” She tittered, her thin mouth tugging to one side as if inspecting a bruise on the knee of an injured child. “There’s something I’ve wanted talk to you about. You see, I want to be your friend. You might think that absurd, but believe me when I say nothing in this galaxy would bring me more pleasure than knowing you can trust me, that I am on your side. How else can I tell my team to go easy on you?”

She smiled then, revealing two gold teeth that glimmered in the light. Jett said nothing. He couldn’t do much more than grunt these days. But he had nothing to say to this woman. She was much smaller than him, nowhere near the same stature as the other warriors Jett had faced on the battlefield. But she frightened him worse than any of them. Whenever she smiled, he knew more pain was to come.

“Theron left you,” she said. “Do you remember, on the _Hummingbird_? He ran to the escape pod with that Twi’lek friend of yours and they both… just abandoned you! Their own skins meant more to them and now you’re stuck here, hooked up to all these awful machines. But that’s the nasty thing about life, isn’t it? It’s just so unfair. It’s always the good people who suffer while those who barely deserve anything glide their way through life without a care in the world or lifting a finger to help others.” Her smile widened. “Did you think you could trust a man like Theron Shan? Did you think, for a single moment, that an SIS agent who’s trained to look out for only himself, would spare a thought about your wellbeing? After everything you did for him and the first chance he got, he ran away. No gratitude, not even a kiss goodbye.

“But, I suppose that’s the story of your entire life, isn’t it, Jett? Ever since you were a cub, you were abandoned by those you cared about. Your family abandoned you to the Jedi Order. The Jedi Order abandoned you to Theron. Theron abandoned you to us. Even the Republic, which you hold so dear to your heart, turned its back when you needed it most. It’s so unjust, when you think about it. But don’t you worry. As soon as we’ve torn down the old regime, we guarantee you’ll never be let down again.”

Her finger traced over the fur of his arm, running up the needle sticking out of his bicep. Her expression became pensive as though she were considering removing it. But then she drew her hand away. 

“I will never let you down, Jett,” she whispered. “Not ever. Do you hear me? I will always be your friend. But, as I say, I cannot help you if you aren’t willing to let me in. After all, friends help each other out, don’t they? You scratch my back and all that. Theron would never have done that for you. But maybe one day you can exact your revenge on him. Maybe one day, you can take your lightsabre and plunge it through his heart. Right now, though, I must go. You think about what I’ve told you and, maybe tomorrow, I’ll visit again. You do enjoy my visits, don’t you, Jett?”

Neck aching, Jett slowly nodded. He couldn’t quite suppress a twitch that spasmed at the corner of his mouth.

“Good,” the Director said, caressing Jett’s beard. “I enjoy them too.”

The door opened a second time. Someone else had come into the room.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” the Director said as she got to her feet, “so you can have some quality time with my dedicated team. I would love to stick around and keep them away, but until I know you’re ready until you’re _ours…_ I’m afraid that’s just not possible. But I will return. I promise.”

Two men loomed over him in her place. Jett squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. The door whispered shut and the three of them were left alone.


	21. Obeisance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accepting his new captive status, Jett faces a test of his newfound loyalty in the White Claw which costs him more than he would ever know.

More time passed. Day and night lost all meaning to Jett. He soon forgot the feeling of fresh air against his face and the smell of rain. He forgot sunlight and how it warmed his fur. It seemed to him that his former life — that of a pitiful, naïve Jedi Knight — belonged to another being. Had he really sped through the airways or Coruscant on some idealistic crusade to fight an evil cult? Had he truly fought his way through a Republic prison and emerged with his life during a lockdown and a riot?

Whoever that person had been, they no longer existed. How narrow their perception had been. How they thought they could take on the galaxy when they failed to harness even their own biology. What a disgusting, wretched creature he had been! But now he knew better. Now, he was strong.

As promised, the Director continued to make her visits. She didn’t do or say much, like always, but they broke up enough of the monotony for Jett to start looking forward to seeing her. Aside from the doctors and lab technicians, she was the only person who spoke to him. He knew her kindness was a front and he knew the old Jett would have seen her proclamations as attempts to manipulate him. But he no longer cared. As long as he got to see her and hear her voice, it was good enough for him. He even grew to appreciate her smile.

“How are we today, Jett?”

She asked the same question at the start of every visit. She had gradually lessened his dosage so that he could speak back to her but even so, it cost him a great effort.

“I’m well,” Jett croaked. He always gave her this answer, no matter how bad things were; he knew it was the only thing she wanted to hear.

“Good.” A single word followed by a grin with golden teeth. “I was hoping we could continue our conversation. Have you thought more about what I said?”

She held the smile in place as she waited for his reply. By now, Jett knew which was the wrong answer and which was the right one.

“Yes,” he said and managed to smile himself.

“And?”

He swallowed. “Theron betrayed me. They all did. The only thing they all deserve is death. And I want to give it to them.”

She studied him a moment before nodding.

“I believe you.”

She would then assume her usual seat beside his bed and begin her discourse. She made him realise many truths, including how feeble-minded he’d been before he’d come here. But that wasn’t his fault. He was, after all, an alien — less evolved than a Human and only expected to cling onto an idea of sentience that had been fed to him since birth.

“In a way, it’s cruel,” she would often say, “how they make aliens believe they can succeed above their mental capacity. Would you ask a Nexu to live underwater or a Hutt to climb a tree? Of course not! We are, fundamentally, different. Equality is a lie. To judge one based off something nature failed to provide them is futile. Evolution does not care for equality. It cares only for survival.”

She would continue in this fashion, pausing now and then to see his reaction. If he was too slow or she thought he was pretending to agree, she would end the conversation there and the next few hours would be full of new kinds of pain. More and more, however, she could see the conviction in his eyes until, on her latest visit, she ended by asking, “What say we get you out of this cell, hm? It must be dreadful, looking at the same walls all the time.”

For a moment, all he could do was stare.

“You— You want to take me somewhere else?”

“Of course!” she replied, jovially. “Lord Albanar specifically requested you be transferred somewhere a little more comfortable.”

He regarded her, certain that this must be a trick. Was he supposed to refuse? He wanted nothing more than to get out of this cell, to be free of this bed. But accepting could lead to more punishment…

“I don’t—” he began but she snapped her fingers and two workmen brought in a hoverchair. After a minute or two of struggling to lift him — Jett was still of considerable size despite how much weight he’d lost — he was unplugged from the machines he’d been wired up to and helped to his feet. It’d been a while since he last stood up and he blacked out for a moment as all the blood rushed from his head. Next thing he knew, he was being steered up along a long dark corridor, the Director leading the way.

Minutes later, they reached a door which she opened with a keypad combination. Beyond it was the most luxurious underground living quarters Jett had ever seen. A long living room with a wide couch and a sunken fire pit led towards a joint kitchen and bedroom, one wall of which was taken up by an enormous fish tank. Before he could wonder whether the tank was just a holoprojection, a large Blueveve Glider swam past.

“We have brought you some fresh garments,” the Director said, gesturing to the enormous bed covered in shimmersilk sheets. On it lay a light synweath shirt and bottoms, perfect for nightwear. “But I expect you’d like to wash first.”

Once they had led him to his shower and helped him get clean, he was gliding into his new clothes as easy as if they were made of air. The bed was insanely comfortable and he felt drowsier than he ever had on whatever drugs they fed into his system.

“Do you like it?”

The Director hovered over him, genuinely eager to hear his verdict.

“I do. It’s nice.” He frowned. “But why are you giving it to me?”

She patted his hand. “Jett, can friends not treat one another now and then? This suite is yours as long as you want it. Even if Lord Albanar had not ordered it so, I would have lent it to you.” She paused just long enough for panic to spiral in Jett’s chest. “There is one thing, however, that he asks of you. He wants you to prove your loyalty.”

“How?”

She wagged a finger. “Now, I won’t spoil the surprise! Let’s just say he’ll expect you to meet him tomorrow morning where he will give you your test. And, for your sake, I hope he’s feeling generous. After all, you don’t want to end up back in that cell, do you?”

“No,” Jett said.

She smiled. “Hopefully a night in here will show how much there is to gain by joining us. You might even want to spend more nights in this lovely little bunker we’ve put up for you. Until then…”

She left soon after, leaving Jett alone to gaze at the aquatic tank and the life swimming around inside it. He did not expect to sleep that night and yet somehow he managed to do so, plummeting into a dreamless slumber that, upon waking, left him so refreshed that he almost forgot his situation for the first time in a long while. Though there was no way to tell as there was no chronometer in his quarters, he could sense that he had been asleep for many hours. Someone had come in during that time and laid out a set of new white garments — a sleeveless vest, breeches and Bantha-hide boots. He put them on, surprised at how well it all fit him. No sooner was he dressed did the door open and the Director came in flanked by two guards.

“Oh, marvellous!” she said. “You’re awake. And you’re wearing the uniform I sent you. Very nice. Are you ready?”

One of the guards moved forward with the hoverchair but he shook his head.

“I don’t need that.”

The guard looked to the Director who nodded.

“Very well. If you would follow me.”

She led him, flanked by more guards who joined them outside, into a kind of audience chamber at the end of another corridor. It was full of black-clad members of the White Claw – hundreds of them, all standing in rows, who turned to look as they entered. Their eyes, hidden by the red goggles they wore, followed Jett as though he were some kind of deity — or demon. None broke their gaze while he made his way forward with the retinue towards the front of the chamber.

There Lord Albanar sat on what could be best described as a throne. Though he wore a helmet, Jett could tell it was him. His immense power in the dark side hit him at once like the rays of a dying star. Even without the Force, however, he recognised him by the way he sat — one slender leg over the other as if he were the king of a little-known world ready to receive his subjects. Indeed, the Director sank to her knees in a kind-of bow before him as they approached.

“My Lord Albanar,” she said. “I have brought the prisoner.”

Albanar nodded, tapping his gloved fingers against the ornate arm of his chair. The Director stepped aside, allowing Jett forward to stand at the foot of the dais.

“Do you know why you’ve been brought here?”

Lord Albanar’s voice, despite his mask providing a mechanical filter, carried the same weight it had the last time Jett heard it.

He nodded in response. “To prove my loyalty to you, Lord Albanar.”

“No.” Albanar stood up, his long white hair flowing out of the back of his helmet like a sheet of white shimmersilk. “You are here to prove your loyalty. But not to me. I want you to prove your loyalty to the White Claw. I want you to show us you are ready to cast aside your old life for good.”

He snapped his fingers. From the wings of the hall, two more guards were dragging a Human male dressed in Republic trooper armour. He struggled and grunted as he was forced to his knees beside Jett. He looked up, blood trickling from his lip, his right eye swollen shut. He tried to say something but his mouth was covered with duratape, making every terrified syllable muffled. His surprise at seeing Jett was obvious, though it probably had nothing to do with recognising him and more the fact he was the only non-Human in the room. Even before he saw his lightsabre being presented to him, Jett knew what he was being asked to do.

“No.”

The word was involuntary, bursting from his lips before he could stop it. He took a step back as if his weapon were a writhing viper. He glanced around at the hundreds of red eyes peering at him, waiting.

“No?” Albanar tilted his head. He didn’t sound angry, surprised, or even disappointed. Only curious.

“I won’t kill an unarmed prisoner.”

Why was he saying this? Did he want to spend another night chained up with all those needles sticking out of him? All that pain… Did he want to go through it again? But the words, acting like a spell, had an agency of their own as if another, deeply buried part of himself was fighting back.

_No! I shall not succumb to weakness. I shall obey my new master._

“If it eases your conscience,” Albanar said, “this man killed five unarmed Humans, three of whom were children, simply because they got in his way. It appears the Republic Military decided to overlook this terrible crime because I expect it would be too much paperwork. Had he slaughtered an alien family, however, it’s almost certain his punishment would’ve been swift and crippling.” He raised a gloved fist. “But he will not escape justice under our watch. He is a traitor to his kind. A fiend. Death is the only suitable consequence for his actions.”

On the floor, the Republic troop was shaking his head and trying to speak, his words gagged by the strip of duratape. He struggled against his bonds but one of the guards smacked him with the butt of his rifle, silencing him at once.

Jett regarded the pathetic figure, taking in Albanar’s words. They seemed to soothe his troubled mind, to push back the resistance that had inexplicably bloomed inside him. Yes. A filthy traitor to his race deserved death. It made sense, did it not? If the new order was to rise, scum like this needed to be made an example of.

“Take your weapon,” Albanar said. Around his neck, the gaudy jewel seemed to glow with its own inner light. “And kill him.”

Beside him, the Director watched eagerly, her eyes gleaming.

Slowly, Jett reached out for his lightsabre hilt which was still being held in front of him. It felt a lot heavier than he remembered but it was comfortable, familiar. A swift instrument of justice. He activated it, the air filling with the smell of ozone as the sky-blue blade erupted from the emitter with a loud snap-hiss. Its hum filled the chamber as he raised the blade above his head. At his feet, the Republic wretch gathered enough of his senses to recognise that his life was seconds away from ending. He gazed up into Jett’s eyes. They were wide and pleading.

_The eyes of a murderer,_ he told himself. _A coward. A traitor._

Tears began to leak out of the Human’s eyes. The sight seemed to freeze Jett’s arms in place. What was he doing? Why was he still hesitating?

_This isn’t who you are. You do not execute unarmed prisoners. Fight! Turn your blade on those who hurt you. Slay them all!_

“Signal One.”

It was Albanar who spoke, the two words falling from his lips like a stone falling into a deep lake. It sent ripples through the air and, curiously, through the Force too. They seemed to enter every pore of Jett’s skin, travelling through every vein until they reached his brain. A red, pulsating light had obscured his vision.

What was happening to him?

He watched what happened next as though through a crimson mist. The lightsabre above his head came down with a single, sizzling slash. It cut through the man easily. His body crumpled, his whimpering now a thing of the past, his voice never to be heard again. All that remained was a headless corpse.

“End Priority Alpha.”

Jett blinked.

He stood over the Republic trooper whose body had fallen forward, his head now twenty metres away from his neck. A cauterised, smoking stump was all that remained above the armour.

_Did I do that?_

Behind him, Albanar began to clap. The sound of his gloved palms hitting each other managed to rise above even the snarling hum of Jett’s still active lightsabre blade.

“Excellent,” he crowed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Director.”

The Director bowed.

“Congratulations, Jett.” Albanar moved forward to stand beside him. “You’ve passed your test.” He stared at the blue blade. “You may deactivate your weapon now.”

Jett looked at the blank visor of Albanar’s helmet, feeling those pale eyes penetrating him even through the plastoid. Was this a challenge? A thought flitted through his mind quicker than he had brought down his lightsabre. Driving the blade right through Albanar’s abdomen in one movement. Beheading him the next. And then…

What?

He switched off the blade and knelt on one knee.

“I am humbled, my lord.”

Albanar purred. “Do you, then, hereby place your allegiance not only with me but with the organisation of the White Claw?”

“I do.”

“Then I anoint you the White Claw’s primary enforcer. You shall lead our forces and enact our will. You shall assist us in bringing rise to the new order. You, a mere Cathar, will prove the might of Human superiority.”

Behind him, there was a collective stomp of many feet along with rustling fabric as the White Claw agents raised their arms in a salute.

“Human might!” they all chanted.

“Human might,” Albanar echoed.

Jett got to his feet, head still bowed.

“Human might,” he whispered. And it felt good.


	22. The Enforcer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now fully indoctrinated, Jett receives instructions for his first mission from Lord Albanar in person. Little does he know that his night is about to take a disquieting turn. 
> 
> **WARNING: This chapter contains elements of dubcon**

“Your initiation was just the start,” Lord Albanar said as the main course was served. He sat opposite Jett at the small dining table in the latter’s quarters, the eerie blue light of the fish tank not quite touching his delicate Human features. “I know you have patiently waited for your first mission and I am pleased to say that moment is here.”

Excitement stirred in Jett as he tucked into his Mon Cala Sardine Fritter. It had been many days since he’d proven his devotion to the White Claw. He had spent much of that time meditating, gathering his strength for the battles to come. Now his patience was being rewarded.

“I am eager to serve, my lord.”

Albanar nodded. “I believe you have more than proven that.”

“Then what is my mission?”

He took out a mini holo-projector then placed it on the dark wooden table before him where his food should have been. Albanar, despite insisting on having dinner with Jett, had not eaten anything himself. He hadn’t even drunk as much as a glass of water. Indeed, the chef who had accompanied him into Jett’s quarters had cooked only for him and had done so with fervour and a dedication to “meeting all a Cathar’s dietary needs.” The food was excellent, the fritter cooked with just the right amount of spices. The smell of it alone made Jett ravenous and awoke something inside him he had not felt in a long time. It was a kind of savage hunger, a primal desire to eat the sardines with his bare hands, using his teeth to rip the flesh off the bones rather than with the knife and fork. Indeed, along with this realisation, his body temperature seemed to have risen, even though the room was perfectly climate controlled.

 _My_ rakktarr _is returning._

As he made this realisation, he did his best to keep his face perfectly blank. It was the first indication of time he had got ever since arriving here — wherever _here_ was. That put it at almost an entire standard month. He could hardly believe it. Had it really been only a month? He almost felt as if he’d grown up here, in the halls of the White Claw sanctum, deep in the bowels of Coruscant. Surely, he could not have arrived as the weak-willed Jedi so easily prone to fits of righteous rage.

“We have received intelligence that a corp of non-Human rebels, who insist on reviving the corpse of the old order, have made camp not too far from here. They are numerous but, still, we outnumber them tremendously. Your goal is to set out with an armed garrison at your back and eliminate them.”

He activated the holo-projector and a small cutaway of some kind of warehouse sprang to life, revolving inches above the table.

“They have employed guerilla tactics to try and put a dent in our forces. So far, they have been infuriatingly successful. Many of our agents have been captured, snared in admittedly clever traps that even I had not foreseen. They killed themselves before they could be interrogated, of course, but that does not change the fact that they were captured in the first place. It could mean that the enemy has learned a great deal about us, more than enough to know our tactics and avoid them wherever possible. We must approach this with the utmost caution.”

“Agreed,” Jett said.

“Fortunately, given your history, you are well-placed to counteract their measures. Your experience dealing with Republic soldiers should doubtless prove an enormous advantage once we root out these traitors and wipe them off the face of Coruscant.”

Jett bowed his head.

“I look forward to it, my lord.”

“It pleases me to hear it.” Albanar shut the holo-projector off and placed it back in his pocket. Jett expected him to them announce he had other business to attend to and that he ought to depart. But he remained in his seat, peering at Jett with his pink irises that, even now, sent a shiver through his fur. “It is rumoured that the spy, Theron Shan, is among them.”

A dark fury threatened to erupt from his throat in a single, terrible roar. He caught it just in time, forced it back down into the bowels of his being, but it still manifested as an involuntary twitch of his hackles and his hand balling into a fist on his thigh.

Theron Shan — the duplicitous liar who had left him for dead!

How could he have been so foolish to believe the poison he’d poured into his ears? He had been naïve to think he could trust a spy. If Shan had been so keen to save the Republic, why had he decided to work against it? Worse still, he had allowed the filthy traitor to _touch_ him, to share a bed with him. He would never let that happen again.

“I trust,” Albanar said after a pause, his thin mouth curling into a slight smile, “that killing him, should you ever be graced with the opportunity, will not be a problem, given your… history?”

Steeling himself, Jett sat up straighter in his seat.

“No, my Lord,” he said. “I look forward to dealing with Theron Shan. I will ensure his punishment is delivered by my hands alone.”

“Good.” Now Albanar’s smile was plain for all to see. “And, might I suggest, you choose a better subject for a potential mate?”

Jett cocked an eyebrow.

“Like you, you mean?”

He did not know what made him say it and now it was out, he expected Lord Albanar’s mood to turn thunderous. He had images of him storming out in a towering rage, threatening to send him back to his original cell like the filthy alien he was for having the nerve to insinuate that he, _he_ , the great Lord Albanar would bring himself so low as to fraternise with anyone who was not Human.

Except that didn’t happen. Instead, a soft chuckle escaped Albanar’s mouth.

“Flattered though I am,” he said with his familiar purr, “I’m afraid it would be ill-advised for me to court an alien, even one who is, admittedly, as handsome as yourself.”

Jett blinked in surprise.

“But you would in secret?” he asked, sipping some of his wine. The flavours brought back flashes of a Coruscanti apartment where he had first spent the night with Theron.

No. Not Theron. Agent Shan, the Traitor. _A real traitor beheads unarmed prisoners._ Who had shared drinks with him and told him he was the most beautiful being he’d ever met… _And lets the head of an insane cult control them like a domesticated Nexu. Next, you’ll be wearing a shock collar._

“My dear Jett!” Now Albanar sounded delightfully amused. “I have no idea what you are insinuating.”

“Forgive me,” Jett said, though Albanar hadn’t reprimanded him. “I did not mean to insinuate or imply anything at all. It was only a question.”

The Human regarded him for a moment with an odd, curious expression.

“I wonder,” he said after a while, “if I haven’t done too good a job on you.”

Jett didn’t know how to respond to this so instead picked up his wine again and drank a considerable amount. It was fruity and dry — delicious though it seemed to make his head spin a little. At least it gave him some cover from the cocktail of artificial fragrances wafting off Albanar’s body.

“You like the wine?”

Jett nodded. “It’s very strong.”

“Human-made, of course. From the vineyards on Dantooine.”

“I didn’t know there were vineyards on Dantooine.”

“Well, now you do.”

Albanar gazed at him for so long without saying anything, Jett started to feel uncomfortable. His head, too, was starting to pound. He must have swallowed too much wine in one go.

“So,” he said, forcing himself to focus on Albanar’s oddly translucent face, “what’s the plan for attack? Any idea on a strategy?”

“You’ll be given all the necessary details in the morning.” Albanar pressed his long fingers together. “Tell me, Jett. Does your _rakktarr_ still trouble you?”

Jett did everything he could to hide his shock.

“How do you know about that?”

“I happen to know quite a bit about Cathar biology,” Albanar replied. He tapped his temple. “Know your enemy and all that. I also understand quite a bit about the Cathar culture and how it all leads back to one’s _rakktarr_. You find a mate during the height of your primal heat and they are bound to you for life. A curious phenomenon. Almost enviable. We Humans could learn a thing or two about the benefits of monogamy.”

Jett stared at him.

“I never realised you had such admiration for my people.”

“Oh. It’s a rare thing, trust me. The one love I have is for the Human species but there are things which I must admire about other civilisations, primitive as they are. Cathar society is, by far, the most interesting. Such a proud people. Fierce hunters. Strong in the Force. As I understand it, it is common for your Force-sensitive youth to become Jedi. I suppose that is how you came to be one.”

“Yes,” he said. “Now I know why you wanted a Cathar enforcer.”

“Precisely. Your people, despite your primitive ways, are strong and have many evolutionary advantages that other species lack. Your enhanced senses, your reflexes, your dexterity… Seeing a Cathar in action truly is a sight to behold.”

Beside them, in the water tank, an enormous fish with a three-pronged tail swam past, briefly obscuring the blue ambience of the room. It was in that second that Jett noticed something strange. Albanar’s head seemed to distort slightly in the momentary darkness, changing shape to something barely resembling a head at all. But it must have been a trick of the light for the man was perfectly normal once the creature moved further into the depths of the tank. He was suddenly feeling drowsy.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” he said again. “But I feel I need to rest. Build up my strength for the morning.”

“Of course,” Lord Albanar said as he stood up. As he did so, the Dark Side seemed to pulsate around him. “I shall have the Director call upon you when the time comes.”

He smiled down at Jett who, awkwardly, smiled back. Though the man was on his feet, he didn’t seem to be leaving.

“Was there anything else, my lord?”

Sleep was coming on Jett quicker than an air speeder. He could hardly keep his eyes open. What was the matter with him?

“Just a small thing.” Albanar took a step closer, absently giving the jewel around his neck a little stroke with his forefinger. “A favour, if you’ll indulge me. When you find your mate — the only true being you’ll spend the rest of your life with — I want you to tell me everything about them. Their name. What planet they’re from. All of it. Can you do that for me?”

Rubbing his eyes, Jett was too befuddled to think of anything else to say except, “Why?”

“Call it scientific curiosity. Well, until tomorrow then, Jett. Sleep well.”

Grateful that he was finally leaving, Jett got clumsily to his feet, his chair scraping loudly as he stumbled from the dining area towards the bed. He didn’t even remember reaching it. Still half-dressed, he collapsed onto the mattress and slept.

He had horrible dreams. At first, he dreamt he was back down in his cell, being prodded and poked with the end of a sharp needle that pulsed an electric current through his body. The ones administering the treatment weren’t the scientists he had known but members of the Jedi Council, each of them rotting and blank-eyed as they found new ways to deliver doses of agony. Then he was in a dark room, feeling surrounded by unseen monstrosities, monstrosities whose eyes were bulbous and blood red, whose teeth-filled maws yawned open to devour him.

_Signal One._

He was back on his bed, aware only of the fact that a solitary figure loomed over him and that he was naked. But everything was blurry. He could not see who it was who was beside him. He thought it might be Lord Albanar but then the figure moved closer and he saw that it wasn’t even Human.

It was a Cathar.

_Release restriction nine: initiating the Shadow Invocation._

Fire blazed through him. White-hot, he felt it sear across every vein in his body, tautening every muscle, filling his mind with a blank, primal urge to spread his seed, to claim his _rakKtarr_ , to dissipate this prehistoric need to reach orgasmic levels of satisfaction. His body was moving of its own accord, thrusting upwards and downwards, his member entering and violating the entrance that sought to be filled.

The Cathar was on top of him. It licked its lips as it rode him, its primitive growls escaping its throat as it acted on its own needs. Jett saw that it was male, slender and with light fur that contrasted fantastically against his own. It ran its hands along the girth of his stomach, gripping him firmly as it rubbed up and down. Gradually, they made their way over his nipples, the pleasurable sensations sending shockwaves through his entire being.

_Am I still dreaming? This feels so real and so good._

“Such a good slave,” the Cathar purred. “Promise you will do anything to obey me.”

_But also wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong._

“Yes, my master. I promise.”

_Theron, I’m so sorry._

He was reaching climax. He could feel it building up and up, climbing ever higher until it reached its apex and, with a sonorous roar breaking free of his throat, he was released.

_End Priority Alpha._

Now there was a bright light. Blue ambience. White noise. Then, nothing at all.


	23. Seen and Unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting out on his first mission, Jett faces hurdles did not expect to encounter, the first being the soldiers who express unadulterated hatred for his very existence and that of an unknown threat lurking in the darkness. 
> 
> **WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of extreme violence and gore**

“The warehouse appears to be unguarded,” the Director said, standing before the giant holoprojection, her pale face lit by its pale blue glow. “However, this is an illusion to lure us into a false sense of security. Rest assured, the place is heavily fortified with secret traps that are easily sprung if you’re less than vigilant — hidden turrets, land mines, laser fields, anything that could spring out at you. This is why all of you should approach with the utmost caution and follow Commander Jhazar’s lead.”

The gathering of black-clad soldiers, all armed to the teeth, said nothing but Jett could feel their hostile glares from under their red-lensed helmets. The Director seemed to sense it too.

“You _will_ obey his commands,” she said with more bite, “or else you will die in the hands of the enemy. They won’t kill you; they want to know everything about us too badly to want to do that. But we will if you fail to use your suicide implants.”

The silence only deepened, filled only with the hum of the machinery. This time, Jett sensed they all got the message.

“And to make sure we’re all equal in this fight,” the Director went on, “Commander Jhazar also has a suicide implant. Show them, Commander.”

With a dip of his head, Jett moved forward and opened his jaw wide. On the very back tooth, he knew the soldiers he was meant to lead into battle could see the tiny flashing light that, if he bit down hard enough, would release a toxin into his system that would kill him in seconds. They all leant forward, their intrigue — and fear — rising through the Force. Now none of them would ever question taking command from a Cathar. They might grumble about it, but they knew better not to do it within his sight and hearing.

The holoprojection, which once again showed a cutaway of the warehouse, rotated and zoomed in along the right side of the building. A red blip flashed somewhere close to its outer wall.

“You are to begin your assault from the east side,” the Director continued as Jett moved back to his original position, arms behind his back. “Intelligence has uncovered a secret entrance which the enemy may have overlooked. You will break through the outer perimeter, evade all the little traps they’ve set up, then break in via the secret trap door. From there, you will take them by surprise. Leave none alive.”

“What if the Chancellor is there?” one of the grunts asked.

“If the Twi’lek is there,” the Director replied, “we want you to capture her and bring her here alive. However, it is doubtful they would keep her in the same area as their main operations. More likely she is in a separate location.” Her lip curled suddenly and her eye twitched. “Her timely escape from the Senate Tower during our invasion was most unfortunate. She will not be allowed to get away a second time. Do I make myself clear?”

The soldiers nodded.

“All right. Head for the transport bay. Prepare to move out.”

As they all left the room as orderly as a garrison of Republic troops, she turned towards Jett, her disgusted expression now a thing of the past.

“Before you go with them,” she said, “there is something Lord Albanar has asked me to relay to you.”

Jett straightened, giving her his undivided attention despite the pounding headache he had woken up with that morning making him want to cringe away from every bright light in the room. Part of him had wondered if it wasn’t the wine that was to blame — the sweet, fruity wine Lord Albanar had given him the night before. But somehow, he didn’t think so. It was as though his body and mind had been… racked by something. What that was, he couldn’t say. Perhaps it was a physical reaction to those terrible dreams he had last night. The last one, where the Cathar had pinned him in place as it forcibly made love to him, had been especially vivid. Indeed, he’d woken up with the same wrung-out feeling he had when he’d — to his shame — become intimate with the traitor, Agent Shan. Only this had felt worse, much worse. Never had he felt like that in response to a dream before.

Had it been a dream?

Even now, he could almost feel the Cathar’s touch on his fur, its breath against his ear. No. He was the only non-Human in the White Claw’s sanctum. There was no way there could be another Cathar lurking around. And yet, despite his body recoiling from the experience, he could not deny that it had been somewhat pleasurable. He knew that was his _rakktarr_ talking, but urges were urges. In a way, he was glad the Cathar had come and relieved him of it before it had built up too much; it would doubtless distract him from the task at hand.

“If we’re right in our assumption that all the important Republic military personnel are gathered in this one location,” the Director went on, “it is highly likely they will have information to top military secrets, both involving the SIS and the army itself. Lord Albanar wants you to retrieve the information and bring it to us. At any cost.”

Jett dipped his head again. “I will do whatever he commands.”

“Good.” A smile spread like melted butter across the Director’s face. “Because if you fail…”

The implication was all too clear.

“I won’t fail,” he said. “You have my word.”

Her smile broadened. “Your lightsabre will be waiting for you beside the transport. Take it and use it to bring glory to the White Claw.” She raised her hand in a salute. “Human might!”

Jett imitated her. “Human might.”

Minutes later, he’d arrived in the transport bay deep within the bowels of the sanctum. A large commandeered military troop carrier was there, the back door extended onto the cold durasteel floor. Beside it, a weedy man held up a box containing the hilt of his lightsabre, head bowed in deference. Jett picked it up, weighed it in his hand for a second, then clipped it to his belt before boarding the transport.

All twelve of the White Claw soldiers were seated there, lit by the red light that flashed in the corner of the ceiling. They regarded him with their red-lensed visors as he sat in his seat near the front of the transport, deigning neither to look or speak to any of them. Though they tried to hide it, they kept on glancing at him, their lenses greatly resembling those of the monstrous eyes in last night’s dreams.

 _Strange_ , he thought. _I don’t fear them as much as I did in my sleep. Perhaps because I could cut them all down without a moment’s hesitation._

The door whirred as it rose to seal them all inside. A second later, there was a rumble, a judder and the transport began to move forward. Jett could almost see the bay doors opening like a gigantic maw, releasing them to outside of this deepest of underlevels, into almost perfect darkness. He knew that the transport’s headlamps would do little to penetrate it.

_What sort of nightmares may we encounter? If it’s anything like the stories flitting about the sanctum, Republic troops would be the least of our worries._

Nobody spoke as the transport trundled on, turning now and then, but otherwise maintaining a straight and narrow course. Every few minutes, one of the grunts checked their rifles to make sure it was loaded but otherwise, they simply stared ahead saying nothing. For Jett’s part, he fell into meditation, sharpening his focus and clearing his mind of all distractions. The smell of the men’s fear filled the cabin with a dank odour, one that Jett found repugnant, but still, he managed to tune it out, determined to carry out his mission with utmost efficiency.

_How much easier it is to meditate these days. As a Jedi, I could barely manage it. But now that my life has a purpose, now that I am strong, I can slip in and out of it as though it’s a spare tunic._

He was brought out of this meditative state when he noticed the soldier opposite was staring at him. There were less than two metres between them but the open gaze felt close and hostile as if the man had come right up into Jett’s face. Jett thought of closing his eyes, ignoring the human who was doubtless trying to provoke him. Instead, he stared back, face devoid of emotion. The soldier, rather than glance furtively away, laughed to himself, the sound oddly metallic coming from the filter of his helmet. It caused his neighbour to look round.

“What’s so funny, Drex?”

Drex shook his head but said nothing. 

“Yeah, Drex,” Jett said. “Why not share the joke?”

A heavy silence rumbled past. Every soldier in the cabin swivelled round, their helmets making them look like curious nocturnal insects. But Jett only had eyes for Drex who once again stared openly at him without a hint of embarrassment.

“He— He didn’t mean it,” his neighbour piped up. “He didn’t mean to laugh.”

Jett turned to him. “What’s your name?”

“I— Victarian, sir.”

“Well, Victarian, seeing as you know what’s going through Drex’s head, maybe you can explain what’s making his sides split.”

Victarian looked helplessly around the cabin as if one of his comrades might jump in and help him out. None of them did.

“N-no, disrespect, sir,” he said at last. “It’s just that Drex was originally meant to be leading the mission, sir. We were all under that impression until this morning. See, he used to be in the Republic military before joining the White Claw. Lead a whole infantry. But he got kicked out for insubordination.”

“Because I refused to serve under a filthy Cathar,” Drex said. “And here I am, in the exact same situation.”

Jett raised his eyebrows. “He speaks!”

“Three years I was on Ord Mantell,” Drex went on. “Serving as sergeant underneath Lieutenant Jirrox fighting against the separatists. But then he went MIA and before I knew it I was taking orders from a furry, pointy-eared freak who thought growling at his subordinates was the same as leading.” Even through the lenses of his goggles, Jett felt the hot rays of pure hatred projecting from the soldier’s eyes. “I thought things were going to be different once I threw my lot in with the White Claw. Turns out I was wrong. Not only am I serving under another alien I’m also serving under an ex-Jedi.”

It seemed to Jett that the other men’s collective breathing had got louder. Had they not been masked, the air would’ve grown stale with it.

“Well,” Jett said, holding his hands up. “I’m sure Lord Albanar would be more than happy to put you back on Ord Mantell, if that’s how you feel.”

The hateful gaze intensified.

“I should be the one leading this!” Drex hissed. “Not you. What the hell do you know? You never served in the field like we have. All of us are ex-army. More than that, we’re special ops with more than enough experience to take on this Republic base. And _you_!” he shot at Victarian. “Calling him ‘sir’ like he’s some kind of big shot. Do you know how pathetic you sound?”

“Drex,” a man two seats to Jett’s right said. “Shut up!”

“No, Reeves,” Drex said. “You might be okay with this thing leading us towards disaster, but I’m not. I joined the White Claw so I never have to take orders from another filthy alien mouth.”

“This filthy alien mouth,” Jett said, the first stirrings of rage kindling somewhere in his chest, “has teeth that could rip the flesh from your bones.”

Drex sneered.

“Why don’t you go play with a ball of string?”

This elicited a few laughs from the other soldiers but stopped under Jett’s gaze. Drex, however, remained perfectly still as Jett got to his feet.

“You had better shut your mouth,” he snarled.

“Or what? You gonna make me?”

Jett activated his lightsabre and brought the blade up to the man’s throat. Victarian gasped and moved out of the way before the blue blade nearly sliced his head open. Drex laughed again, though he backed against the wall, as far away from the bar of plasma as he could get.

“Bet you think you’re a big man with that thing, don’t you?” he muttered. “I bet if you were given a blaster you wouldn’t even know what end to fire it from.”

Jett opened his mouth to respond before the transport came to a shuddering halt. He almost tilted over, lightsabre swinging dangerously in the confined space. Around him, the soldiers let out sounds of confusion and dismay.

“Are we there already?” Reeves whispered, not quite able to hide his unease.

“Can’t be,” his comrade responded. “We still have another hundred klicks to—”

“Quiet.”

They all fell silent as Jett titled his head, listening. Outside, something was scuttling around the cabin. Jett’s ears twitched. The smell of the soldiers’ fear increased.

“What is that?” Victarian asked.

Jett made his way to the intercom and spoke into it.

“Pilot. What’s going on out there?”

The pilot’s voice came crackling back over the speaker. “I can’t quite see Commander.”

“Then why have we stopped?”

“I thought I saw— Up ahead.” There was a small silence. “Shall I resume course?”

“Proceed.”

The transport juddered to life once more. But they had gone barely a few clicks when it stopped again.

“Pilot?”

“It was there! I saw it, commander. It looked like…”

“Looked like what?”

“I’m not sure. It was some kind of dark shape.”

Jett stood up, lightsabre hilt in hand.

“Wait here,” he said. Nobody argued.

He pressed the control to lower the hatch and it groaned open like an enormous, gaping mouth. He stepped out before the metal had even touched the floor.

Outside, the transport was surrounded by complete darkness. Even his sharp Cathar eyes could not pick up much, though he saw some hulking immobile shapes in the distance, the remnants of long-abandoned buildings, large piles of rubbish and abandoned speeders — ancient footnotes in Coruscant’s history. He squinted. Nothing seemed to be moving, yet his fur prickled along his shoulders, then down his back and arms. The Force whispered of danger all around.

He re-activated his lightsabre, raising it so the azure light of the blade could reveal what his eyes could not. It picked up very little but he moved forward regardless, reassured by its warmth and luminosity. Its deep hum filled his ears along with that of his own creeping footsteps. The smell of soot and decay crept up his nostrils, seeming to worsen the further he went. There was another smell — one he could not quite place. It was altogether too familiar and seemed to have a subliminal effect on him. His _rakktarr_ reared up, awoken by the sour metal odour.

 _Blood_ , he thought. _I can smell blood. But why?_

He stopped, his last footfall echoing in the gloom.

There it was again. Scuttling. Creeping. He turned on the spot, his lightsabre’s glow illuminating the dusty ground beneath him. Something moved in the dark ahead of him. Jett squinted, the scuttling growing louder and louder in his ears. With it came a soft, moaning sound. And then came the eyes. They seemed to reflect the glow of his weapon back at him, the pupils flashing wickedly. They advanced towards him, picking him out from their surroundings. There were at least a dozen them.

“Commander?”

Victarian had poked his head out from the open hatchway.

“Get back inside,” Jett ordered. “Now!”

The man obeyed. It was then that the things, whatever they were, made their first strike. They lept, impossibly high, hurtling towards the transport. Jett had darted back inside long before they landed, slamming his hand on the hatch controls and watching it move, painfully slow, upwards again. Thankfully, the pilot had the good sense to start up the transport. It hurled forward, almost sending Jett flying as clawed hands reached through the gaps of the closing hatchway, accompanied by a series of loud, blood-curdling screeches. The closest soldiers raised their weapons and opened fire. The hands disappeared and the hatchway sealed itself. Not even a second later, there were several thumps on the roof and Jett sensed that at least three of the creatures were right above them. There came a terrible sound of screeching metal. It sounded as if the beasts were using their bare hands to rip through the durasteel to reach them.

“What are they?!” Reeve had lost his nerve and the words escaped him in a scream of fear. “What the hell are they?”

His comrades held firm, two of three of them raising their rifles again and shooting through the freshly made holes in the ceiling. One screeched as it fell away. Another poked its face through and, in the red light of the Cabin, Jett saw what it was.

The snarling face that glared at them through the ripped canopy was Human. Human, yet deformed. Its eyes had sunken deep into its hairless cranium, its pupils seeming to glow like that of a jungle predator. Its teeth gnashed as though attempting to bite the jagged metal out of its way. A blaster bolt put an end to it, and the creature fell back.

“There’s more up ahead!”

The pilot’s panicked yell reached them even without the intercom. The transport swerved suddenly, causing Jett to topple sideways. More thumps on the roof. More blaster fire. Jett even activated his lightsabre and jabbed it through one of the holes. But there seemed to be no end to them. One creature managed to wriggle its way into the cabin. Jibbering, it lunged at the Reeves, who let out a piercing, garbled scream as it tore into his throat. Blood filled the cabin in a red mist, peppering them all as they stared in horror. Drex was the first to recover. He drew his hand pistol and shot the thing in the head. Regardless, he was too late to save Reeves — most of his neck had been ripped open, blood pumping out and onto the steel-plated floor. 

“Stars!” Dres whispered in utter shock.

But they did not have time to absorb what had happened. Two more of the Human-things had climbed in. One leapt towards Victarian while the other pounced on Jett. Before his lightsabre could cut the creature in half, its hand had grabbed hold of his lower arm with a strength he would never have imagined. It was a grip of durasteel, that of a rancor rather than a Human. As the carcass fell away, he cried out, his upper arm burning. The thing had scraped its impossibly sharp nails along the flesh of his upper arm, ripping away a chunk of fur and leaving five deep claw marks which wept blood. He winced. Now he understood how they had ripped through the ceiling so easily.

More thuds. More of their horrific visages glowering into the cabin. Blade aloft and ignoring the pain, Jett jumped through, landing deftly on the transport roof where half a dozen of the things clung on. They made for him, unafraid of the spinning blade of ozone as it tore into them as easily as they had the durasteel beneath Jett’s feet. He used the Force to steady himself, crouching low.

One of them came at him from the right. He blasted it off the edge of the roof where it fell away, shrieking. The movement caused the pain to flare up and he cried out, clutching at his wound. His entire arm was wet with his own blood, his fur matted with it, its sour smell penetrating not just his nose but his whole being.

As the red curtain fell across his vision, that was when it came to him.

 _I don’t just have the Force. I have my_ rakktarr.

Three of the beasts landed on him — one on his back, the other two on his sides. He roared, reaching up to rip their bodies from him. The one on his back landed right at his feet. Before it could scrabble back up again, he brought his boot crashing down, crushing the thing’s ribcage with a wet crunch. It spasmed horribly beneath him for an instant before growing still. Throwing it off the side, he grabbed the one that had clung onto his right shoulder, ripping its arm off in a single motion. The third was perhaps the least lucky. Jett had grabbed its head which fit snugly in the palm of both his hands. He began to squeeze. In seconds, the creature’s shrieks of pain became gargled splattering as its brains fell through Jett’s fingers. claws to rip another’s arm off. Letting the limp body fall, he turned to the remainder who had borne witness to what he had done to their brethren. Jabbering and squawking, they turned and leapt away into the blackness from which they were spawned. Jett ran to the edge of the roof, teeth bared, ready to make chase. He had their scent now. He could hunt those things down in a matter of minutes and paint the duracrete with their innards.

“Commander!”

He stopped, blinking.

Drex had poked his head through the hole, seemingly unhurt. He looked upon the carnage staining the durasteel with a kind of horrified awe.

“Are they gone?”

Straightening up, Jett nodded. It was only then that he remembered he had a mission to complete and hunting down the Human-things would have to wait.

Jumping back inside the cabin, he saw at once that it was just as bad as it was outside. The air was full of the smell of blood. It would seem, after the attack, they were now down from twelve men to ten. The carcasses of the Human-things that had been slaughtered lay where they had fallen, their rage-filled expressions frozen on their dead faces. Beside them lay the bodies of Reeve and Victarian, both with wounds that had ripped them open, exposing rib cages and exposed tracheas. The rest of them seemed to be unhurt, though most had taken off their helmets, exposing white and sickly faces. One had gone over into the corner and vomited violently.

Drex knelt and inspected the bodies.

“Ten,” he muttered in disbelief. “How are ten men supposed to storm a Republic stronghold?”

Jett sat back in his seat, clutching his still gaping wound. Their medic, who’d been covering the soldier’s bodies with a white sheet, came over and began to dress it with a bandage, but Jett pulled away, snarling. The touch of the gauze was like fire. Raising his hands, the medic backed off, wisely leaving him to his own devices. Satisfied, Jett then leant over his arm and began to lick at the wound himself. He had not done this since he was a cub. It was very soothing.

“Anyone want to explain what those things were?” Drex had asked the question to fill the deafening silence. No one answered him. “Mutants,” he grumbled. “There’ve long been rumours of such things down here. But why didn’t they warn us about this?”

Jett pulled his head up to glance at him

“Are we likely to run into more?” he asked.

Drex shook his head.

“Who can say. But if we do, I’m sure you’ll hack them to pieces.” Begrudgingly, he too sat, hugging his rifle. “I’d just hate to see what state those Republic troopers will be in once you’re through with them.” He glanced at Jett and, for once, Jett detected no hostility. “Looks like it’s a good thing you’re with us after all.”


	24. Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at the Republic stronghold, Jett and his team carefully make their way to the secret entrance. But first, they must navigate all the hidden traps lying in wait for them.

The rest of the journey was made in silence.

All the soldiers had resumed their original seats, bar the two casualties who lay on the floor. The unsteadiness of the route shifted the sheets covering them until they were partially revealed once again and no matter how many times the medic replaced it, it kept falling back. The dead mutants had been brushed into the farthest corner. They would’ve opened the hatchway and thrown them out by now — their carcasses were producing the foulest odours — but that wasn’t an option unless they wanted to attract the attention of their live brethren which, for all they knew, could still be following the transport as it moved through their shadowy territory. Regardless, the further they went along, the stench of death grew worse until not just one but several soldiers pulled off their helmets to throw up. Even Drew, who’d also taken off his helmet to reveal a heavily scarred and bald head, looked pale and occasionally coughed into a closed fist, his throat twisting as he swallowed his bile. Every bump in the road and every distant bang made them all start and Jett expected once again to hear the grinding of metal as the roof was torn away by monstrous hands. Glancing through the gaping holes in the ceiling, however, he saw nothing.

He wished he could meditate but the wound he’d sustained prevented him from doing so. Though he’d relented and allowed the medic to bandage his arm and inject it with a fair dosage of kolto, the pain seemed to gradually build until it became impossible to ignore. It reminded him of the lethal blood wasps on Cathar. Their venomous sting left untreated could send its victim into a mindless frenzy, all sense of self slowly slipping away until they eventually succumbed. One of his old cubmates had died that way. He could not remember it too well, but he did remember the cub’s screams of rage as the venom coursed through his body. His clan had been camping out in the wilderness — a hunting trip if he remembered correctly — and bandits had stolen their medical supplies. Had they not encountered them, the cub might have been spared.

_What were those things? What mutation had caused them to become such animals?_

The more he wondered, the more his arm burned. Already, he could feel it sapping him of his strength. It made him want to unleash the fury it inspired, to tear each soldier limb-from-limb just as he had the mutants. Worse, he wanted to tear his own arm off. Surely, dismemberment hurt less than this searing agony. But that wouldn’t do. They had not even made it to the hidden Republic base yet. He was not going to return to Lord Albanar empty-handed. He did not think he could stand the shame.

“We’re approaching the coordinates.” The pilot’s voice sounded over the speakers, making them all jump. “T-minus two minutes until arrival.” Even he sounded a little shaky, despite his only role in the mission being to wait for them. If none of them returned within an hour upon arrival, he was to take the transport straight back to the sanctum and assume the mission had failed.

 _But we’re not going to fail,_ Jett thought. _We’re not!_

After exactly two minutes, the vehicle ground to a halt. The red light blinked out to be replaced by a steady, blinding luminescence as the hatch once again whirred open. Jett stood and, with a nod, led the team out cautiously, ears pricked for any sound as they stepped over the bodies on the floor.

Outside, there was nothing. The all-pervading gloom that inhabited every corner of this dank underlevel was still present. Two buildings rose on either side of them, their heights lost in the darkness. Each soldier put on shoulder-mounted flashes, circling the vehicle to check for any hostiles. There appeared to be none. Gesturing, Jett led them forward, leaving the transport behind, the hatchway still wide open.

They made visual contact with the after rounding the first corner. Based purely on what he was seeing, Jett would have assumed the warehouse was empty. But this was, he knew, part of the illusion. Crouching low, they hurried towards the outer perimeter, stopping now and then behind a pile of rubble to get their bearings. It was deathly quiet. Not even a sentry could be seen. If the Republic traitors had put up their defences, they were indeed well hidden. Even so, Jett thought he heard the first of them as they drew closer to the wire mesh fence. It was a high-pitched humming noise that seemed to emit from the wiring itself. Beside him, Drex, who was once again helmeted, bent down, producing a small circular saw. Jett grabbed his hand before he could touch the wire.

“It’s electrified,” he said. “Touch it and you’ll blow us sky-high.”

Drex wrenched his arm away. “How do you know?”

“I can hear it. Guess that’s another reason to keep me on this mission, huh?”

Wordlessly, Drex withdrew from the wire, allowing Jett to proceed. He produced his lightsabre and used it to cut a hole in the fence. Electricity did not affect it and it sliced through easily, leaving a burning arch in the wire large enough to allow them all through. Now, all that separated them from the warehouse was a stretch of wasteland that was empty but for the upturned remains of a dropship. This too, however, was an illusion. Landmines were everywhere, some so close together it would take special care not to set any of them off and cause a chain reaction. Thankfully, if he strained his ears enough, Jett could hear them whirring beneath the ground. That along with using the Force to detect danger should allow them to reach the hidden entranceway unscathed.

“Follow my lead,” he whispered. “Do exactly as I do. There are mines all around us. Make one wrong step and we could— Argh!”

His arm flared with pain so intense that, for a moment, he fell to one knee, his vision going dark. Tendrils of fire had now spread from the wound through the right side of his body, reaching the very nerve-endings of his fingertips.

_What’s happening to me? Could that mutant’s claws have been venomous after all?_

His heart raced at the thought. Once again, he heard the cub’s screams as the blood wasp’s sting took hold, screams that sounded remarkably like his own.

“Commander?”

Drex did not sound concerned, merely impatient. Jett could sense his eagerness to get the mission over and done with as quickly as possible. Snarling, he swiped his hand as if the man had reached forward to help him up.

“It’s nothing. Let us proceed.”

Slowly, they made their way across the wasteland. Every one of them followed Jett’s lead precisely, though one or two had to be yanked back as they almost stood on a mine. Much more to Jett’s frustration, however, was his own sloppiness. The wound continued to pulsate through his body, making it difficult to concentrate on what he was doing. Twice he pulled his foot back just in time as he realised how dangerously close his toe had come from touching one.

“How much further?”

Drex behind him hissed the question with just as much impatience as before but now it was with equal amounts of nervousness.

“Not long,” Jett confirmed. “Just a few—”

A loud click cut off the rest of his sentence. He whirled around. Another soldier stood frozen in mid-step on a patch of dirt. Terror gushed from him as the realisation of what he’d just done flooded his brain. He let out a small whimper and the sharp tang of urine pierced Jett’s nostrils as the man’s bowel’s loosened.

“You fool!” he snarled. “Don’t move! Don’t even think about taking another step forward, or we’re all dead.”

The soldier didn’t need to be told. He shook from head to foot, frozen in place like a figure in a holo image. The rest of the company looked on at him horror and anger.

“He’s done for!” his neighbour said. 

“Let’s just leave him and carry on with the mission,” said another.

This made the unfortunate soldier sob. Jett realised with a pang that it was the same man who’d thrown up once he’d scoured the transport of their mutant aggressors. He was smaller in stature compared to the rest and something about his stance, despite clutching a large rifle, made him look pitiful.

“No,” Jett told them all. “We’re not leaving him behind.”

Drex glowered at Jett.

“You might feel compassion for idiots like Mollet,” he sneered, “but I’m not feeling so generous.” He gestured at the rest of the team. “Let’s go!”

He barely took a step before Jett moved in front of them all, towering over them and halting them with a roar. For the first time, Drex cowered back a step.

“The Director said you are to obey my every command,” Jett growled. “Or have you forgotten?”

Nobody moved. Satisfied, Jett moved towards Mollet and crouched down. At close range, the smell of his soiled greaves was overpowering. He was sobbing quietly to himself as the landmine whirred faster and faster beneath his doomed feet. Jett reached out with the Force, probing every circular centimetre of the device. He felt for an off-switch or a wire he could jiggle loose. Every attempt to do so was met with a fresh flare of pain. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would last before passing out.

He looked up into Mollet’s visor. The frightened Human stared back down at him with despair leaking from his every pore.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t disarm it. But I can delay the explosion long enough for you to get to safety. All I need you to do is keep very still. Please.”

Slowly, Mollet got a grip of himself then nodded.

“Only move when I tell you to. And only then. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Once again reaching out through the Force, Jett enveloped the landmine with his consciousness, feeling every spinning cog and whirring circuit, every snaking wire plugged into the disc-shaped contours of its duranium shell. He gritted his teeth harder, almost biting his tongue as the pain crept across his back and shoulders. He pushed through, trying to find the right mechanism. He almost had it. He could feel it.

“Hurry up!” Drex snarled.

Jett twitched his fingers closer together and then…

There! He had it. The landmine clicked again, shortly followed by a rapidly building screech as the mechanism fought against the unseen obstruction.

“Okay, now move! Go!”

Mollet ran for it. His comrades did too, not hesitating to leave Jett behind as they bolted towards the secret entrance. Jett held on for as long as he dared, backing away a metre at a time before he thought it was safe to let go. He lowered his hand, releasing the mine, as he turned and started to run.

He barely made twelve steps before a colossal explosion lit up the darkness. A fiery fist punched him in the back, hurling him forwards several feet before landing in a heap. More explosions went off in succession, so loud that it felt as though his eardrums were being torn apart. As it was, all he heard was a deep, monotonous ringing in his canals as he slowly attempted to stand. His whole body felt battered but he called on the Force in an attempt to delay the shock and inevitable whiplash he would suffer as a result. Pain wracked him once again, needle-sharp. It stabbed at every nerve-ending, making him double over and fall onto the ground again.

He was so preoccupied with his predicament he hadn’t noticed that a gunfight was taking place metres away from where he lay. The White Claw agents had engaged on a squad of Republic troopers who had leapt out from the warehouse, from behind the dropship wreckage, and even from under the dirt itself before returning fire. There were more than twenty of them and although one or two were hit, they managed to stun every member of Jett’s party before any of them had time to gather their wits. Drex was the first to fall and Mollet was the last, both of them firing on a slender finger whose features were thrown into sharp relief by the inferno. Nutbrown skin. A cybernetic implant. Red jacket. Theron ducked out of the way of the red blaster bolts, deftly spinning on both feet as he raised his blaster and fired a stun bolt squarely into Mollet’s chest.

Groaning, Jett tried to stand again. He still couldn’t hear anything. The Republic troopers’ mouths moved, the flames behind him burned, but for all the good it did they may as well have not been there at all. If it had not been for the pain, he would’ve believed that he was still dreaming.

Theron’s face loomed over him. A mixture of emotions twisted his features — namely sorrow and concern, but mostly relief. He said something, his lips moving up and down in an almost hypnotic way. When Jett didn’t reply but only stared back at him, he knelt and held out a hand.

Jett swiped at it, claws fully extended. Hatred coursed through his being with such intensity that he forgot everything else.

“You left me!” he roared as he got to his feet. “You left me to die! I’ll kill you!”

He couldn’t even hear his own voice. He had a brief flash of Theron’s stunned face illuminated by the glow of his lightsabre, which he barely knew he had in his hand before he lunged at him.

Several large impacts hit him all at once. They were like ball-sized pockets of air pummeling his body. He glimpsed a flashed of blue as his weapon fell limply from his hand. Another flash as the final stun bolt hit him in the back.

Then all thought became nothing.


	25. The Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now back in Republic hands, Jett is faced with the full reality of what the White Claw has done to his mind. Can he be brought back from the brink or is he lost forever?

For an untold amount of time, he experienced a quite different sort of pain. For Jett Jhazar, former Jedi Knight turned enforcer of the White Claw, this was the pain of recovery.

In moments of consciousness, all he could see was blue liquid swimming all around him. His body was floating. An oxygen mask clung to his face. He reached out with a hand, his palm meeting a solid barrier of transparasteel. Another face stared back at him. No, not just one, several of them. The first had to be a medical droid of some kind. Others were only vaguely familiar. But the one at the very centre stood out. The olive green eyes were no longer relieved but now consumed with remorse and dread.

He lashed out, thrashing in the blue liquid, trying to swim up and out of this container he was in. But the cables attached to his oxygen mask prevented him. There was a soft hiss. The air in the mask became sweet, overpoweringly so. It crept up his nostrils and into his brain, draining him of all strength as he sunk back into unconsciousness like a stone.

“Whatever they did to him, the damage runs deep. I fear they may have resorted to other, less conventional means, to break him.”

“How do you mean, Master Quell?”

“I dare not think it, not even to myself because, if I’m right, it makes the White Claw a much more dangerous enemy than we ever realised.”

“More dangerous than they already are, you mean?”

“I fear that Sith alchemy was involved.”

A sharp intake of breath.

“Sith alchemy?”

“Yes. But that is the trouble, you see. How the White Claw have got their hands on the ancient arts of Sith sorcerers I cannot begin to guess. Regardless, the fact they have it fills my heart with dread. What other experiments have they been conducting down here under our very noses, using the weapons of the enemy?”

The voices were muffled but Jett heard them. He must’ve been laying down because they seemed to be coming from above him.

He opened his eyes a fraction.

Five or six figures were bent over him. They seemed to be on the other side of some green transparasteel. As he opened them wider, his own face stared back at him. This was not his reflection, but a holo display above the barrier transposed beside vital signs and a scan of his body.

The figures noticed he was awake. Among them, two he recognised — Master Tetr Linn and Syldron. The three others were strangers. One was Human, thick-set, bearded and dark-skinned with dreadlocks tied back behind his head. Beside him was a pale-skinned near-Human female and a Nautolan dressed in Jedi battle armour.

“He is awake,” the Human remarked. “But I sense no violence in him.”

“He’s still groggy,” Master Linn responded. She looked down. “Jett. Can you hear me?”

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. His heart had begun to beat rapidly. Above him, his vitals lit up red.

“Put him back under!” Master Linn cried. “Quick!”

The pale near-Human pressed a button on a console. Once again, Jett smelt the overpowering sweetness and his heartbeat slowed as he began to slip away. Before he was out completely, he heard Syldron ask desperately, “Is there anything we can do, Master Quell?”

The Human looked grim.

“There is,” came the reply. “But it will be a long and difficult path ahead. And he may not make it to the other side.”

He was floating again. He could feel his body, weightless, drifting on a soothing current of warm air. If he wasn’t much mistaken, he was being lifted off the ground.

He was outside of the pod now, or whatever it had been and was floating several centimetres off his bed as though he were aboard a starship whose artificial gravity had malfunctioned. He realised, also, that he was naked, the lower half of his body covered only by a single white sheet. His stomach, his upper body, and almost his entire right arm was wreathed in bandages.

Three figures surrounded him, each with their heads bent, eyes closed and hands clasped together. The currents of the Force flowed through each of them like a warm breeze. The first was the dark-skinned Human, Master Quell, whose grim face looked to be in a deep trance, as did the others.

 _Quell?_ he thought. _Not Darred Quell, Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order, surely! What is he doing here?_

Beside him was the pale near-Human female who he gathered to be his apprentice as she was dressed in similar brown robes. She stood at the end of the bed, Master Quell to her right. On her left, and to Jett’s right side was—

Anger reared its head again as Jett recognised the bulky, green-skinned Twi’lek assisting in this ritual.

Narzu’chev.

He, like the other two, seemed to glow with a golden light as they allowed the Force to wrap itself around them like a giant lasso. It seemed to detect Jett’s anger and gently wash it away.

 _Peace_ , it whispered. _You’re among friends._

He fought to keep hold of it. He was not among friends. Narzu’chev had betrayed him. He had sold him, Theron and Syldron out to the White Claw! He deserved to pay. Why were these two Jedi even in the same room with this filthy pirate whose sorcery had shown him a future that had surely come to pass by now?

 _Peace_ , the Force whispered to him again. _Peace…_

And, as though shedding himself of some old and tattered cloak, Jett let his head fall back and his rage left him. 

Consciousness came and went, each time lasting a little longer. He would see Master Quell and his apprentice weaving the fabric of the Force through the room to channel its healing energies. Most often they were alone, but other times Master Linn joined them. All three grew to become pillars of light in Jett’s vision, their presence magnified and bolstered by it. There was no sign of Narzu’chev. Jett came to wonder if he hadn’t imagined him being there the last time. Regardless, he was certain that, though stung by the Twi’lek’s betrayal, the anger would not overcome him in that way again.

In other moments, Jett would wake up alone, lying on his bed while a medical droid changed his bandages and inspected his overall physical condition.

“Your hearing has fully recovered,” it remarked with its chipper, bedside-manner programming. “And your body is well on the mend. We’re not sure what had entered your system before you came to us, Master Jett, but left untreated it would have surely deactivated you.”

Soon it was feeding him morsels of food, even allowing him to take tentative steps around the medical bay.

“I would not strain yourself too far,” it warned as he collapsed wincing onto his bed again for the third time. “You’re still not entirely back to normal. The ordeal you went through was quite traumatic, both physically and mentally, though I lack the necessary programming to assist you in regards to the latter.”

It did not take long for Jett to notice that, other than the droid and the Jedi Masters, who in any case seemed to come when he was out of it, nobody ever visited him. Regardless, he knew he was being watched, despite the rest of the medical bay being empty. In the many hours he spent alone, he spotted no less than five hidden cameras dotted around the room.

_They’re afraid of me. That is why they keep me confined here, tranquilised like a rabid rancor. They know of what havoc I could wreak._

He wondered when the interrogations would begin. It had been a while now since his capture and still no one had come to ask him what he knew of the White Claw. Not Darred Quell, not Master Linn…

Not even Theron.

He had attempted to escape only once. It was during one of his lower moments, consumed by thoughts of his capture and subsequent failure. Lord Alabanar would punish him greatly. He had to get back to the sanctum to tell him how it all happened and how deeply sorry he was. He worked himself up into such a frenzy that the droid could not even administer his daily dose of tranquiliser and had to ring the alarm for help.

Half a dozen Republic troops piled in, all of them burly and dog-piling on Jett in an attempt to subdue him. But, burly as they were, Jett was far bigger and far stronger. With a potent mix of his _rakktarr_ , his hours of isolation and the numerous chemicals in his body, he was behaving much like a caged animal, roaring and snarling at anyone who dared touch him, grabbing them with his ferocious claws and hurling them across the room. Eventually, brute force proved futile. It took Master Darred Quell entering the room and using the Force to place a calming spell over him. To Jett, this was little more than mind control, and he bellowed at the filthy Jedi to get out his head. But it was enough of a distraction for the tranquiliser to be administered and his moment of rage was quickly put to an end.

After that, he was confined to a single room and kept on watch around the clock. Two troops had been stationed outside and always accompanied the Jedi Masters as they came to perform their hourly ritual.

“I want to see Theron.”

The request came from nowhere and the medical droid whirred its head around in digitalised confusion.

“Master Jett, I’m afraid that is out of the question.”

Jett shook his head, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “I don’t care. I want to see him.”

The droid’s photoreceptors zoomed in on him. Had it been humanoid, Jett imagined it would’ve been blinking stupidly at his request, unable to think of a way to proceed. Obviously, its back-up routines did not foresee this eventuality.

“You do not need visitors, Master Jett,” it said. “You need to rest. You’re still in deep recovery. It could provide unnecessary strain on your central processor.”

It continued to refuse hours later when Jett asked again, and then again hours after that. Tired of the constant denials, he demanded, “Why can’t I see him?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, Master Jett,” the infernal machine responded in its gentle yet clipped manner, “it appears Agent Shan is an enormous trigger for your… uhh, episodes. Every time you and he have been in the same space, it has brought out extreme and hostile behaviour. We think it’s better for everyone if the two of you were kept apart.” It moved forward with an injection. “Now, time for some more kolt—” But Jett grabbed its pronged appendage, making it squeal, “Help, security!”

“If you do not let me see him,” he said in his most threatening growl, “I will rip out every wire of your circuitry and then ravage your central processor so badly that a memory wipe is the best you can hope for. Now, do I need to ask again?”

The droid stopped its futile attempts to release itself and relaxed in his grip. But he didn’t let go. Not until he got what he wanted.

“I… will see what can be done. But I cannot promise he will be allowed to visit you.” It paused, nervously. “You don’t intend to hurt him, do you, Master Jett?”

Slowly, Jett released the appendage.

“No,” he said. “But I have a few questions I want to ask. He can even have guards with him if it makes him more at ease.”

And so it was agreed. Theron would be allowed to visit Jett for a short time under heavy guard. Still, it felt like forever before the man himself showed up at the door, and even then, it took him some time to actually enter the room. Jett watched his silhouette as he spoke aggressively to someone outside. Then, half a minute later, he stepped in.

Even in the time since his capture, both by the White Claw and the Republic, Theron seemed to have changed. Physically, he was the same. His hair was still styled up in that ridiculous faux-hawk, his red jacket was as sleek as ever, and he still stood in that confident stance Jett knew so well. The difference was in his eyes.

“Hello, Jett.”

Seeing his features in full relief, Jett felt a twinge inside him that was almost physical. It wasn’t anger but aching despair, one he had been trying his utmost to suppress ever since the two had been separated. Despite all Theron had or hadn’t done, Jett could no longer deny that it was good to finally see him again. He wanted nothing more than to draw him into his arms.

_Have you forgotten that he abandoned you? The Director told you so herself._

The door swooshed shut behind Theron as he moved towards Jett’s bed where he was bound with bantha-hide straps — a concession he had to make to guarantee Theron’s visit, along with the armed escort that was supposed to have entered the room with him.

“Where are your guards?”

Jett was alarmed to hear how husky his voice sounded. Not the threatening monster it had been as he tormented the droid, which now stood in the corner observing them with its photoreceptors whirring, but that of a mewling kitten — a naughty Cathar cub who had been put in his place by the clan mother.

Theron blinked as though surprised by the question.

“I told them to wait outside,” he said. “I kept saying to the Supreme Commander I didn’t need them but you know how dads can be.” He rolled his eyes. “He wouldn’t have let me see you at all if I hadn’t threatened to never speak to him again. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for days but they kept telling me that I couldn’t, that you were ‘unsafe’ to be around. As if I can’t look after myself…”

“You’re that confident I won’t hurt you?”

He meant the words to sound harsh, perhaps even condescending, but again they came from him as though he were a youngling.

Theron raised his arms.

“Do you see my blasters on me?”

Jett looked at his hips. The holsters were empty.

“And to prove my point further…” Theron moved forward and began to undo the straps holding Jett in place.

“Agent Shan!” The droid shuffled towards them, sounding positively alarmed. “Those restraints are put there for your protection.”

Theron ignored it. He continued to unfasten the buckles until the strap sprung free. Jett watched as he worked, amazed how anyone can so recklessly throw themselves into the den of a beast. As far as he knew, Jett could strike at any moment. A slash of a claw and that would be all it took to end his life.

Why was he doing this?

But of course, Jett lay as he was, flexing his hands and legs to rid them of the cramp induced by the restraints. He sat up slowly, his eyes on Theron. Theron neither flinched nor backed away. 

“I have questions,” Jett said at last, pleased now that he sounded less child-like. Indeed, the note of danger must’ve been in his voice because even the droid recoiled. Theron, however, did not.

“I suppose you do,” he said.

Despite this, Jett took a long time trying to form the question in his mind. Now the moment had come, he wasn’t sure how he was going to ask it.

“Why did you abandon me?”

The shock and pain that flitted across Theron’s face made him almost regret putting it so bluntly. Almost. The accusation stung and Jett couldn’t deny he felt some pleasure in seeing tears appear in the corner of Theron’s eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“On the _Hummingbird_. You and Syldron jettisoned before I could reach the escape pod. You left me to be caught by the White Claw.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, determined to drive home the full extent of Theron’s crime. But even now, Jett was starting to doubt himself. The look on Theron’s face and the hurt pouring from him through the Force smacked only of someone who was hearing this for the first time.

“We never abandoned you, Jett,” Theron said, his voice shaking a little. “You saved us. Syldron told me. You carried me into the escape pod and told him to take me out of danger. Don’t you remember?”

Jett did not remember. The White Claw had made sure of that. But neither could he remember their version of events. Confusion and rage boiled up inside him.

“Liar!” he snarled.

“I’m not lying.”

“You left me for dead.”

“No!” Tears were now flowing freely down Theron’s cheeks, his lips trembling. “What are you even saying? Jett… What have they done to you?” He wiped his face quickly and took a deep breath. “We spent days looking for you after the escape pod landed. We enlisted the help of some locals who had witnessed the _Hummingbird_ being attacked and offered to look for the wreckage. When we found it, there was almost nothing left. But even when Syldron told me it was hopeless, I refused to give up. I _knew_ you were still alive. I could feel it, here.” He tapped the centre of his chest. “Call it the Force, call it instinct, but I knew that if you had died, I would’ve felt it. Never did I think for a second that you were in the hands of the enemy. When I saw you on the minefield, wearing those White Claw robes, I thought I’d wandered into a nightmare. The Jett I knew would never have become their servant willingly. That was when I realised what they must’ve done to break you. And that was when I almost wished I had found you dead.”

Jett turned away. The words strung but he knew them to be true. Had he not wished for death during those horrible weeks of suffering? The needles, the electric shocks… They reminded him just how cruel and painful life could be. Those and the other ways in which the White Claw broke into his mind.

“Look at me,” Theron said.

He didn’t move.

“Jett, look at me. Please.”

He turned back to Theron. Tears were still falling as he put both his ungloved hands to Jett’s cheeks. He flinched at first then allowed it. He could not deny the pleasure he felt at feeling the man’s fingers once again run through his fur. Nor could he deny the stirring in his loins as his nose picked up the intoxicating scent of muja fruit.

“Whatever they told you about me,” Theron whispered. “Whatever they said to turn you against the Republic and the Jedi, it was all lies. They did something to you to make you forget what happened so they could turn you into a weapon. And you know that. Somewhere deep inside you, you know what really happened.”

Jett tried to remember, but couldn’t. Flashes of wicked instruments used to inflict pain flashed across his mind. He winced.

“I… I can’t.”

“Jett—”

He pulled away. “They hurt me. And they’ll hurt me again knowing that I’ve failed.” He looked him straight in the eyes. “They wanted me to kill you.”

Despite all his tears, Theron smiled.

“You could never kill me,” he said. “Even when you raised your lightsabre to cut me down, you stopped just before the blade could touch me. You hesitated. You might not remember but the troopers who witnessed it can back me up.”

Jett blinked. Was this true?

He reached into the Force but could detect no deceit.

 _That’s what they want you to think,_ the Director’s voice whispered somewhere in his mind. _This is all a trick. They’re planning to snare you back!_

He pushed away again, falling back onto the bed, cringing.

“No,” he whimpered. “No…” He felt Theron bend over him but swiped an arm to keep him away. “You need to stay away from me! I’m just… an animal, Theron. A filthy mindless beast who could tear you to pieces. That’s all I’m good for. The Jedi knew it, the White Claw knew it, and you know it too.”

Ignoring his protesting arms, Theron reached down and found his face again with his hands, caressing them with his thumb. It soothed Jett as nothing else had.

“No, no you’re not,” Theron said, voice breaking once again. “Not to me.”

“Theron, you don’t know what I’ve done. What they made me do. I— I killed a man in cold blood. Just so they wouldn’t hurt me again.”

But Theron shook his head. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“But it is! I should never have given into them. If I was any kind of Jedi, I would have let them kill me than allow them to use me like that. But I just couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted it to stop. Because I was weak.”

His vision blurred as water leaked from his own eyes. Nothing had caused him so much pain thus far than seeing Theron’s compassionate, forgiving face gazing upon him when he had done so little to deserve it.

“They made you suffer a tremendous amount of pain,” he said. “Of course you surrendered to their demands. But that doesn’t make you weak, Jett. It just meant that you didn’t want to suffer anymore. And, well… For my part, I’m glad you did. Because it meant we finally got to see each other again.”

Gazing into his face, Jett saw plain as day that he meant it.

And somewhere deep inside him, something gave. It was as though he’d been limping through a long, dark tunnel, unsure if he was heading deeper into the bowels of the planet or rising to the surface to once again see the sky. Now, finally, he had emerged on the other side.

He pulled Theron into a tight embrace. Nustled against his fur, Theron wrapped his arms around his vast shoulders and sobbed — hard, wracking sobs that shook his entire body. He drew tighter around Jett, clinging to him, never wanting to let go. Jett held him with equal fervour, feeling how firm yet delicate he felt beneath his touch. The palm of his hand took up nearly half of Theron’s back. How easily he could’ve broken him. But he wanted to do no such thing. How could he?

He inhaled deeply, taking in Theron’s scent. It was not just the smell of muja fruit which so strongly reminded him of his childhood and warm, happy days of innocence. It was the smell of life, of love, a smell that reminded him all that he had to fight for. He wanted to keep Theron safe. More than anything.

Theron’s sobs subsided a little as he asked the question he’d been burning to know the answer to.

“Tell me something. Are you okay, Jett? Are we okay?”

It took his a while to answer but he knew, with every molecule of his being, that it was an absolute truth.

“Yeah,” he said, his own throat unbearably tight. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

They only separated when the medical droid moved forward again, insisting that Theron leave so Jett could have his kolto and some rest.


	26. War Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovered and ready to fight, Jett sits among the Republic's top war officials as they plan their final stand against the White Claw. However, Jett's time among them has side-effects he had not anticipated and could prove a hindrance to the operation.

The next day or so was the first Jett spent almost entirely awake. This was, in part, because he felt a lot better after Theron’s visit but also due to the many other visits he received throughout the day.

Though he was still confined to his own room in the medical bay, many of those in the Republic base must’ve thought he was safe enough to see in person without the need of tranquilisers. Either Theron convinced them he was no longer dangerous or enough time had passed that they had come to that conclusion themselves. Or, more likely, they witnessed the entire exchange between Jett and Theron through hidden cameras and, after seeing the two of them hug each other, must’ve decided he was safe to be around.

Jett’s first visitor was from Master Linn, Syldron and Master Darred Quell along with the near-Human and Nautolan Jedi. All were pleased to see he was making a speedy recovery but were, regardless, still wary.

“I couldn’t believe it when they said they found you,” Syldron said, barely able to conceal his delight. “When I launched our escape pod with Theron unconscious on my lap, I thought… Well, you know.”

He of them all was happiest to see Jett. Though Master Quell was friendly enough, he was rather formal and all too serious. He rarely smiled and had a set determination behind his dark brown eyes that would tolerate no nonsense.

 _They couldn’t have chosen anyone more suited to be Barsen’thor,_ Jett reflected.

“Thanks to the combined help of my apprentice, Nadia Grell,” Quell said, gesturing at the pale near-Human, “and Jedi Knight Liberi Mondi,” gesturing at the Nautolan who grinned, “we were able to extract much of the dark alchemy that had been used to warp your mind and force you to serve the White Claw.”

“Thank you,” Jett said. “I don’t think I could ever—“

Quell raised a hand. “There is no need for thanks. It is both a duty and an honour to help others in need. It was fortunate you came to us when you did; had the White Claw used any more of its dark influence over you, you may have been lost to us forever. As it was, I feared that might have already been the case.”

“You were in quite a state,” Nadia Grell, Master Quell’s apprentice, said. “You probably don’t remember as you seemed to have worked yourself into quite a… Well, you weren’t yourself. The first time we worked on you, you tried to bite down on the suicide implant in your molar. Fortunately, we prevented you from doing so and extracted the device before any more harm could be done.”

“It meant we had to keep you sedated a lot of the time,” Liberi Mondi said, bowing his tentacled head in apology. “Which was no doubt distressing for you. But there was no other way.”

Jett nodded in understanding. He turned to Master Linn. The Kel-Dor had yet to say a single word. Indeed, she’d listened to the whole exchange in haughty silence, arms folded across her chest in a way that would make any youngling feel as though they were in deep, deep trouble.

“Master Linn,” he croaked. “You must forgive me for running out of the Senate Tower like that. I ignored the curfew and disobeyed your orders. But you have to understand that I couldn’t sit around and do nothing while the White Claw was sinking its teeth deeper into the Republic.”

She glowered at him, though she seemed to soften a little at his words.

“I cannot disagree that I was displeased to hear what you had done,” she said, her voice tense as a coiled spring. “Under normal circumstances such behaviour would have warranted disciplinary action, expulsion from the Order being one of them.” Then, unfolding her arms, she sighed. “However, one cannot deny your sense of justice and the need to do what’s right, regardless of what higher powers dictate. That is a mark of a true Jedi. Since you disappeared, I must admit, it did make me wonder if we masters aren’t sometimes too rigid.”

He could not help but smile.

“So, I’m not expelled then?”

Her stern glower returned. “We’ll let the council decide that. They’re on their way from Tython as we speak, though they have been delayed thanks to an urgent call that required their attention in Hutt Space. I just hope they manage to get here before the attack, but it’s looking less and less likely.”

“Attack?” Jett looked between them all. “There’s going to be an attack?”

“We plan to make a strike against the White Claw’s main stronghold,” Darred Quell replied. “It’s still being coordinated but we expect to move out within the next twelve hours.”

“We were hoping,” Syldron said, “that you’d be well enough to join us.”

Jett considered. A part of him, a quite significant part, still feared what the White Claw would do once they learned he had not only failed in his mission but had re-joined the other side. What more horrors would Lord Albanar and his Director unleash upon them all? But another, stronger part of him, wanted to strike back against them, to make them pay for what they had done to him. His Jedi conditioning admonished this notion, _Revenge is not the Jedi way._ But he no longer cared. This wasn’t about being a Jedi; this was about bringing justice to those who’d evaded it for far too long. And if Jett was to deliver that justice in person? Well, all the better.

Less than an hour after the visit from his fellow Jedi, Theron came back again, this time accompanied by Supreme Commander Jace Malcom. Even before they came in, Jett sensed the tension between the two of them.

“Master Jett.” The Supreme Commander was as formal as ever, greeting him with a stiff nod. Jett thought about telling him that he wasn’t technically a master but decided against it. “Ther— Agent Shan informs me you are ready to aid us in our attack on the White Claw stronghold.”

Theron folded his arms at the near-mention of his name but said nothing.

“I am,” Jett confirmed. He wanted to take hold of Theron’s hand and squeeze it for reassurance but to do so in front of Malcom would’ve been unwise.

“And you’re sure you’ve gotten over your, uhh… affliction?”

Turning his gaze inwards, Jett examined himself honestly. Was he really well enough to fight? Beside him, he felt Theron tense as he doubtless asked himself the same question. But once again looking at his dear face gave Jett the strength, the _conviction_ , to nod with absolute certainty.

“That’s good to hear,” the Supreme Commander said. “We could use the knowledge you’ve acquired of the sanctum to help plan our assault.”

“Uh, well,” Jett said, his stomach sinking. “I’m afraid I never saw very much of the sanctum, Supreme Commander. I was largely confined to certain areas.”

“I see.”

Malcom threw a look at Theron as if blaming him for leading him on. Theron returned it with a shrug and Jett knew, without even needing the Force to tell him, that he had warned the Commander that this would be the case.

“Well,” Malcom went on after a tense silence. “I expect you in the war room in a couple of hours regardless. Havoc Squad should be arriving soon along with a platoon of Republic soldiers. They are as keen as we are to bring the Republic back into the right hands. We’ll begin to form a strategy once they arrive.”

With a final nod, he turned and left the room.

“He’s mad at you,” Jett said.

Theron shrugged again. “It’s not my fault he’s a stubborn piece of work. I told him not to get too excited, that it was unlikely you’d memorised a floorplan of the White Claw stronghold, but he wouldn’t listen.” He scoffed. “Guess that’s fathers for you.”

Jett raised his eyebrows. “I thought crises like this would bring fathers and sons closer together.”

Theron glared at him. “I told you already, that is the last thing I want. He may be my father but all he and I share are blood. Nothing else.”

“I’m sorry,” Jett said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Theron pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” He sighed. “I spoke with Master Linn just now. Darred Quell was with her.”

“And?”

Theron hesitated. “They’re concerned. Both of them could sense that you weren’t entirely yourself again.”

Jett looked at him, aghast. “Theron, I swear, I’m not—”

“No. Not in that way.” He turned to face him. “They think your connection to the Force has been damaged somehow.”

“Damaged?”

Theron nodded. “I’m no expert but I’ve heard about such things happening before. When a Jedi goes through something so intense, something so traumatic that it nearly breaks their mind, sometimes the only way to protect themselves is to just cut themselves off from the Force.”

Jett’s mouth fell open. “But that’s impossible! I feel fine.”

Narrowing his eyes, Theron turned and went over to the other side of the room. He picked up a small device — a scanner of some kind — and put it on the surface of a table about level with Jett’s position on the bed.

“Call it to you. Use the Force to levitate it.”

“But—“

“Just do it, Jett. Please!”

“I— All right.” Jett raised a hand and reached out to the small instrument. It twitched where it lay, lifted off the table and into the air then fell onto the floor. He stared at it, then at his own palm. He reached out again. The device twitched, quivered upwards by a couple of centimetres, then clattered lifelessly back to the ground.

Theron sighed again.

“Jett,” he said. “Maybe it’s best if you—”

“No! I’ve got this.”

He stretched out his hand for a third time, urging the Force to flow through his fingertips and take hold of the scanner. It fluttered against the floor as though moved by some unfelt groundquake then came to a halt at Theron’s right foot. Jett’s stomach seemed to shrink to a pinprick.

“What’s happened to me?”

Theron took hold of his outstretched hand.

“It started back the Senate Tower,” he said, gently. “Remember? You tried to mind-trick those soldiers and it didn’t work. At first, I thought it might be the _rakktarr_ but I have a feeling it’s something deeper than that. When I think of all you’ve been through — the prison, being captured by the White Claw — it makes me wonder how anyone can go through that stuff and not go crazy. Maybe this is some kind of delayed response, some kind of traumatic stress, that’s affecting your ability to use the Force.”

Jett stared at him helplessly.

“But this can’t be happening,” he said. “It can’t. They need my help. They need me to raid their stronghold. If I can’t use the Force, what good am I to anyone?”

Theron leant forward and kissed his forehead.

“Even without the Force,” he said, “you will be an invaluable asset to us all. You’re brave, strong and resourceful, qualities any war general would kill to have in all their troops.” He stroked his hair reassuringly. “You kick enough ass with just your lightsabre, Mister,” he added with a wink. “So I won’t have you doubting yourself.”

Jett tried to smile but couldn’t. Yes, he was proficient — perhaps even great — with a lightsabre, but what use was that if he hadn’t the Force to guide him, to make him aware of his surroundings on an extra-sensory level. Without it, he felt almost naked.

But there was no chance he was going to remaster a lifetime’s worth of Force training in less than a day. It would seem that he, as well as the rest of the Republic’s forces, were going to have to do without it.

Havoc Squad arrived at the base an hour before starfall. Aside from their platoon of over a hundred troops, they comprised of five highly-skilled operatives and a prototype war droid who was armed to the teeth.

Major Niko Senshii, their leader who arrived at the base with his helmet under his arm, shook hands with them all and saluted to the Supreme Commander, General Garza and General Var Suthra in turn. He was a thick-set Human male with dark cropped hair and a red tattoo of the Havoc Squad insignia over one side of his face. His second-in-command, Lieutenant Elara Dorne, flanked his left side while his third, a brown-furred Cathar named Aric Jorgan, stood to attention at his right. Jett was pleasantly surprised upon seeing Jorgan as he was the only other Cather he’d seen at the base. He had a firm handshake and a gruff manner, though he was polite enough. Still, Jett had a feeling this was species bias as he seemed rather cold towards Lieutenant Dorne and outright ignored his Weequay comrade, Tanno Vik. The Gand, known only as Yuun, stood back from the proceedings as if unsure whether his insectoid appearance would make everyone present uneasy. Regardless, Major Senshii introduced him to the Supreme Commander with as much zeal as his other officers, including the droid.

“Nice to see another furry face behind the brains of this operation,” Jorgan said to Jett. “Takes a sharp mind to plan an operation like this one. Would’ve got here sooner but an Imperial dreadnaught pinned us down along the Hydian Way back from Eiradu.”

“It’s good that you’re here,” Jett said. “I’m sure Havoc Squad will give us the advantage we sorely need.”

He tried not to think too hard about his continued failed attempts to levitate various objects towards him in his quarters that afternoon. With one Jedi unable to use the Force, they were going to need all the firepower they could get.

“We do have a habit of turning the tide of battle,” Jorgan said casually. “But that’s mostly because our Major provides an ample amount of motivation. Oh, and he has a cannon.”

Jett glanced at Major Senshii who sported such an enormous assault cannon on his back that he was shocked he could stand upright.

“Anyway,” Jorgan went on, “we have enough troops here to take over a large stronghold like theirs. Not to be overconfident, but I’m pretty sure we’ve got this one in the bag. I doubt those zealots even thought to put up turrets.” He sniffed suddenly and his eyes widened. “Are you…? Um.” He struggled to find the right words. “Riding the wave at the moment?”

Jett frowned. “What?”

“ _Rakktarr_ ,” Aric Jorgan said under his breath. “Are you going through it?”

Cheeks flushing, he responded, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean— It’s just— I can smell it coming from you. It’s so strong.”

“You can?” Jett felt his blush deepen. “How?”

Jorgan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t they teach you Jedi anything? The pheromones, my good man! We release them in droves when it’s _rakktarr_ time. Most of the time, you just tune it out. But, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been around Humans too long, yours is stronger than anyone’s I’ve ever seen.”

Jett scowled. “Flattered.”

“No, please, don’t mistake what I’m saying. I don’t mean anything rude by it, it’s just…” He looked around to see if anyone else was listening. “My father,” he went on in an undertone, “had something similar. It was this condition he had, something we called _rakktarr-ka_ , that came on him every month so strongly that he had to lock himself in another room.”

Jett’s eyes widened in alarm. “Why?”

“He was scared he might tear us all apart if he stayed around us too long. There was no other way to handle it. We consulted every physician on Cathar and none of them could find a cure. They said it was a mutation of sorts, a kind of genetic defect — a leftover from our ancestors back from when they were hunting game on all fours on the savannahs. I was scared I might get it but I got lucky, along with all my brothers and sisters. Must skip a generation.”

He must have noticed the effect his words were having on Jett because he then rushed to explain, “But it’s not all that bad! You’re young and fit and seem to be handling it well. My father, as badly as he suffered under it, still lived a long and happy life. It was just something he had to cope with.” He sighed. “Stars, how I wish I kept my mouth shut.”

But Jett shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I appreciate you telling me. It makes me feel less alone.”

Aric Jorgan looked surprised but nodded quickly. “Ah, well, in that case, I hope it helps you in some way. And if you ever have any questions—”

“I’ll be sure to ask,” Jett said, nodding. “Thank you.”

The War Council, as it was officially dubbed by Supreme Commander Jace Malcolm, began shortly after. In attendance was all of Havoc Squad, Jedi Masters Darred Quell and Tetr Linn, Nadia Grell, Liberi Mondi, as well as Theron and Generals Garza and Var Suthra. They were all gathered around a circular holo-table which showed a map of the surrounding area. Much of the map was blank but key areas showed distinct details, including the warehouse in which their current operation was taking place and the White Claw stronghold several hundred klicks to the west.

“The White Claw has made a fatal error,” General Garza was saying, “and our time to strike at their centre of operations has arrived. Reconnaissance agents have pinpointed the exact location of their stronghold and captured White Claw agents were able to confirm this information. Unfortunately, though we had removed their suicide implants, they must have carried a second somewhere on their body, one even they weren’t aware of for they died shortly after their interrogation. Autopsies revealed where this hidden implant was located and we were able to remove any remaining spyware…” She glanced at Jett. “Before any real damage could be done.”

She pressed a button on her remote control. The holo-map zoomed in on the White Claw sanctum where it revolved above their heads.

“Thanks to our recon team, we have also discovered that the stronghold is relatively unprotected,” she explained. “This, we feel, is due mostly to the nature of Level 157, namely its hostile environment and population of mutants. It is probably why they built their base down here in the first place, so that it was virtually undetectable for any surface-dwellers but also right under our very noses.”

“Does anyone know how the mutants came to be there?” Theron asked.

General Garza shook her head. “It’s unclear at this time. Our strongest theory is that they are some deformed subspecies of Humans who have lived down here for centuries. Other hypotheses speculate they are lab rejects from the White Claw sanctum itself. We don’t know for sure. However, it remains a fact that they are our primary obstacle.”

“Then how will we get around them?”

“I think I can answer that one.”

Heads turned as a big green Twi’lek entered the room. Jett’s hackles immediately raised as he recognised Narzu’chev standing before them all, bold as duraplast, his company of Twi’lek and Human pirates flanking him along with his Trandoshan bodyguard. Only half-aware of what he was doing, Jett found himself getting to his feet, but Theron’s hand found his chest and pushed him back down.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “He’s here to help us.”

Judging how nobody else reacted negatively upon seeing the Twi’lek pirate, Jett could only assume this was true. This filled his mind with confusion. What was going on? Were any of them aware of Naru’chev’s true nature? If it hadn’t been for him, he would not have been captured by the White Claw and put under weeks of torture. Then he noticed that among Narzu’chev’s retinue, Daggonath — the blue Twi’lek who’d got them aboard the _Hummingbird_ — was absent.

“One thing that seems to draw these Human mutants out of their hiding-holes,” Narzu’chev went on, “is loud noises. They can’t stand anything louder than a whisper, it seems. We think it’s because they have oversensitive hearing, which I guess comes from living in dark places. Us Twi’leks should know — our ancestors tended to make their homes in caves to escape the harsh winds of Ryloth.”

Off to his right, Jett noticed Syldron stroking his chin and nodding in agreement.

“If we can create a loud enough boom,” Narzu’chev said, “far enough away from the main path to the White Claw’s stronghold, it might draw their attention and compel them to hunt whatever it is making that awful racket. From what we can gather, they don’t seem all that bright. A simple enough diversion should clear your way long enough for you to reach your destination.”

“What kind of distraction did you have in mind?” General Var Suthra asked.

“An explosion,” Narzu’chev said with a slight smile. He nodded at General Garza who clicked her remote again, zooming in on another area of the map. Now, what hovered before them all was an ancient tower, rising above many of the ruins that lay at its feet. “We have placed multiple explosives around this structure, enough to bring it down and attract the mutants’ attention. With luck, the majority of them, if not all, will swarm towards it, leaving their hiding places empty and our path clear.”

He stepped to one side with a small bow, allowing General Garza to take the floor once again.

“We will be divided into two teams,” she said. “The first will make a full-frontal assault on the stronghold. The second will involve a small strike team that will break in while the enemy is preoccupied to capture the White Claw leader, the being known only as Lord Albanar.”

She pressed another button and an inflated image of Lord Albanar’s face loomed into view. Jett flinched and turned away. Even in holographic form, he could not bear look upon the face that had brought him so much torment. Discreetly, Theron reached for his arm and squeezed it gently.

Thankfully, the image was replaced by a cutaway of the underground portion of the base where a series of tunnels seem to lead directly beneath it.

“This old sewer system will be the strike team’s way of penetrating the stronghold. There is an old hatchway that leads right up into the inner sanctum.”

The hologram flashed with a small red icon, showing them all where the secret entrance was hidden.

“Once the strike team is inside, they will make their way up to the central audience chamber where we suspect the White Claw leadership will be hiding as it is the most fortified room in the entire structure. We suspect that they will flee there once they get wind of the assault.” Another click and the hologram disappeared. Garza turned towards Theron who straightened in his seat. “Agent Shan, is your team ready?”

Jett looked at him, aghast.

“A little short on numbers I’m afraid,” he said. “But I’m sure I can garner volunteers.”

“Well, you have at least two,” Jett said, “because I’m going with you.”

Theron smiled. “All right. That’s one.”

“Me too.” Syldron stepped forward.

“And us.” Aric Jorgan and Elara Dorne stood up.

“I could spare you a few men,” Major Senshii said and Jace Malcom nodded in agreement.

“And me,” Narzu’chev added. He nodded at sister, Urza, and Glizz, the Trandoshan. “These two will give your strike team more than enough bite.”

“It’s settled then,” General Garza said. “The rest of Narzuchev’s crew will accompany him to the tower, while we will remain on the front lines.” She turned to Darred Quell. “I trust you, your padawan and Master Linn will lead the assault.”

Master Quell nodded. “We will accompany our troops into battle and provide the support they need. However, I advise caution. While this is doubtless a surprise attack, we cannot go into battle without expecting any kind of retaliation. Indeed, they may well be waiting for us to strike. We must catch them unawares, or else they could get the upper hand.”

“I will be the vanguard,” Liberin Mondi, the Nautolan, added. “Masters Quell and Linn know of my prowess in battle. I will be more than eager to defend our troops.”

There was a muttering of agreement.

“Very well,” Malcom said. He turned to Senshii. “Major, rally your troops!”

Senshii clapped his hands. “All right. Havoc Squad, let’s go!”

They all filed out of the briefing room, anticipation of the coming battle buzzing in the air. Jett stood up before Theron could stop him this time and made straight for Narzu’chev. But it seemed the Twi’lek wanted to speak to him too, for he hung back, arms clasped in front of him.

“Jett,” he said in greeting, “it’s good to see you have reco—”

He got no further as Jett smacked him full in the face. Several things happened at once. Those who remained in the room fell silent, staring as Narzu’cev fell back. In a flash, Urza was inches from Jett, holding a curved dagger at his throat. The Trandoshan hissed menacingly, drawing his vibroblade and angling at him. Theron cried, “Jett, no!” and both Aric Jorgan and Elara Dorne’s mouths fell open in shock.

A stunned moment passed in which nobody did anything. It was as though the entire room had become a frozen holo-image.

Then Narzu’chev straightened, brushing his cape aside and wiping the blood off his lip. With an amused smirk, he massaged his chin.

“You whack quite a punch,” he muttered.

Jett said nothing. He just stood there, oblivious to the blade a centimetre from piercing the skin of his neck, breathing heavily as he stared the Twi’lek down.

“I suppose that was for what happened on the _Hummingbird_ ,” Narzu’chev said. “Well, I guess I can’t blame you for that. I should’ve realised Daggonath had sold you out. He was already on his last warning before I met with you at the Neutron Star.” He scowled at his sister and then at Glizz. “Put your weapons down! You’re about to assault the enemy stronghold together. The last thing you need is to turn on one another.”

Reluctantly, Urza withdrew her blade and Glizz resheathed his.

“You should’ve known,” Jett growled, eyes blazing. “You should’ve known he’d betray us. You keep tabs on everyone else. Why not members of your own crew?”

Narzu’chev lowered his gaze.

“You’re right,” he muttered. “I was a fool to trust him. But believe me, when I heard what happened, I saw to it that he paid dearly for his crimes.” He gestured at Urza whose face gave nothing away but her intense stare told Jett everything he needed to know. She must’ve hunted Daggonath to the ends of Coruscant before cutting him to pieces and throwing his remains down a reactor shaft. 

Even so, it did not make him any less angry.

“I know,” Narzu’chev said, “that because of me you have endured unspeakable horrors, Jett. For that, I am truly sorry.”

Then, without warning and to the surprise of even his own followers, he stepped forward and sank to one knee before him. Jett stared. So did everyone else as Narzu’chev took the handle of his sabrestaff and held it up as though it were an offering.

“As recompense,” he said, “I swear on my life to assist and serve you in any way that I can. You can even take my life if that is what it takes to satisfy you. But I promise, if you choose to spare me, I will never make the mistake of having such blindspots among my crew again. You have my word.”

Another tense silence unfolded. Theron looked between the two of them, brow creased with anxiety. Narzu’chev’s crewmen did the same.

At last, Jett nodded.

“It’s a start,” he said. “But right now the Republic needs you more than I do. My only request is for you to execute your plan with the utmost efficiency.”

Narzu’chev brought his sabrestaff back into the folds of his cloak, bowing deeply.

“I will see it done.”

With that, he got to his feet and, calling on his retinue, left the room. Jett watched him go, fists curled loosely at his sides. The room slowly refilled with the hubbub of activity. Theron blew out a breath.

“Wow,” he said. “For a second there, I really thought you were about to murder him where he stood.”

Jett remained silent.

“You weren’t actually going to kill him?” Theron asked, more nervously this time. “Were you?”

He turned to look at him, his face stony.

“Don’t think I haven’t ruled it out,” he said.

Everything was now set. With transports loaded and troops moved into position, the warehouse’s main docking bay buzzed with the whine of speeder engines and officials running this way and that, ensuring a speedy start to the entire operation.

Jett moved among them, lightsabre at his side. He had left Theron and the rest of the strike team at the entrance to their speeder and now he moved alone, silent among the troops as he headed towards his destination.

Arriving outside Narzu’chev’s quarters, he was surprised to find it unguarded. He supposed that the crew of the _Emerald Flame_ were elsewhere, making their own preparations. Regardless, he found Narzu’chev inside, meditating beside his bunk. He stirred as Jett stepped in, standing up and turning to look at him.

“Come to see how my jaw’s doing?” he said, chuckling. He pointed at his face where a large bruise inflated his lower lip. Jett did his best not to show his reaction though he could not deny his sense of pleasure at seeing what his punch had created.

“I need to ask you something.”

Nazru’chev went to pick up his sabrestaff which lay on a side table.

“You want to see if I meant what I said,” he intoned. “That I will be true to my word.”

“In a sense,” Jett said. “Yes. I need you to help me strengthen my connection to the Force. Since waking up from that nightmare, I feel as though I’ve been dangling by a thread. I want to mend it before that last thread snaps. You have a solution. I know you do.”

Narzu’chev’s shoulders sagged.

“My dear, Jett,” he said, his eyepiece flashing. “Have you really come seeking a quick and easy solution?”

Jett shrugged. “It’s not like I have a lot of time on my hands.”

“No, I suppose not.” The Twi’lek moved towards him, his natural eye pinning him where he stood. “But no matter how much time you have,” he went on in a lower voice. “There is only one place from which you can gain mastery.” He reached out and placed a hand in the centre of Jett’s chest. “Here.”

The hand lowered.

“Now,” Narzu’chev said with a friendly pat on his shoulder. “We’d better get going. We’ve got a battle to win.”

Before he could leave, however, the question he needed to know the answer to burst from Jett’s lips, “But what if I can’t? What if I never master myself?”

Narzu’chev gave him a hard, searching look.

“Well,” he said. “With that mindset, you definitely won’t. But if you learn to open your mind, embrace what makes you strong, nothing in this galaxy will stop you.”

He turned to go again.

“Narzu’chev.” He paused, looking back round. “May the Force be with you.”

The Twi’lek returned the smile then dipped his head, exposing the top of his bright green lekku.

“I would say the same,” he said, “but the Force is already with you, Jett. And it always will be.”


	27. Firestrike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the operation against the White Claw stronghold begins, the strike team runs into an ambush which falls to Jett and Syldron to fend off.

One-by-one, the Republic forces began to move out. Like gigantic Corellian millipedes, each transport exited the warehouse as though vacating it were of the utmost priority. The final transport carrying the strike team was last to leave.

Jett, with Theron sitting beside him, felt an overwhelming sense of deja-vu. It seemed to him that, only a few days ago, he was being carried on another transport driven by the enemy. Now he was about to plunge headfirst into their territory and he was unsure whether he was going to come out again. His heart hammered so hard against his ribcage he thought the others in the transport must surely have been able to hear it. His fist was tight on his knee and as the transport juddered forward, he breathed out deeply, trying to still his whirring thoughts. Only Theron’s secret reassuring touch on his upper forearm managed to calm him. He turned to look at him, seeing the brave smile plastered on his face. Jett knew he was scared too.

The others betrayed no hint of fear. Syldron was fine-tuning his lightsaber. Aric Jorgan and Elara Dorne made sure their assault rifles were loaded then sat in stony-faced silence. Urza and Glizz did the same, though their silence was somehow more elaborate, almost relaxed. If Jett didn’t know any better, he might have said they cared little for the outcome of this fight.

_And why should they? Win or lose, if they survived they could just go back to their pirating ways._

But, Jett supposed, despite their true motives, the fact they were here and fully intending to fight alongside them spoke volumes.

He just wished the rest of their party felt the same way. Narzu’chev had provided three other members of his crew along with Urza and Glizz — two Twi’leks and a Human — while Supreme Commander Malcom had committed five additional troops, each armed with grenades and rifles. They kept sparing the pirates thinly-veiled glowers which only seemed to amuse the latter’s delight. One of the Twi’leks leant over and spoke to the Human in Huttese, making him laugh.

“What did you say?!” an orange-haired trooper demanded.

“Settle down,” Elara Dorne ordered.

“But, sir, he—”

“I said settle down, trooper!”

Begrudgingly, the troop sat though he continued to scowl at the Human and the Twi’lek, the former blowing him a mocking kiss. His face became bright red and he resumed loading his ammo clip just so he didn’t have to look at them.

They continued on, making little conversation as the transport trundled through the dark underworld of Coruscant. They would reach the stronghold in a few hours. But first, they had to cross the no-beings-land of mutant territory. The last time Jett had crossed it, it hadn’t felt that big, but seeing it displayed on the holo-map made him realise just how vast it truly was. It was insane to him to think that, mere kilometres above them, there was sunshine and fresh air and weather, while down here there was only dank darkness and eerie silence. Even the higher underlevels had more life and colour than this place. He supposed it had to be the price that Coruscant had to pay to accommodate more citizens and grow into the ecumenopolis that it was. 

After what felt like an age but also what seemed no time at all, the vehicle came to a halt. This was part of the plan — to wait, hidden from sight on the edge of the mutant territory, for Narzu’chev’s signal.

How long they would have to wait here, Jett had only a vague idea. He hoped, however, that it would be sooner rather than later; he could already feel his dinner churning in his gut. All sorts of scenarios played out in his mind. What if Narzu’chev failed? What if, after bringing down the tower, no mutants came to investigate and they would be forced to drive through regardless? He imagined all the other assault transports parked up in front of them, coiled up in anticipation of a swarming mass flowing over them like a wave of the deepest, blackest oil.

“Are you okay?”

Theron’s voice was like a reassuring breeze on a still summer’s day.

“Yeah,” Jett said, voice quavering treacherously.

Instead of replying, Theron reached over and entwined his fingers with Jett’s, squeezing his hand tight. Jett returned the gesture in kind.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered.

Theron winked. “They had no chance of splitting up the dream team. Not for a second time.” They chuckled a little. “When we get out of this, I want to buy the biggest Mantellian sundae on the whole of Coruscant and just devour it.”

“Maybe we can share it,” Jett said, then blushed, remembering that they were not alone in the vehicle. But then, who cared when they were all about to stare death in the face anyway?

“Maybe,” Theron said. “Or maybe you can get your own.”

They laughed again, a little bit too loudly, making Urza glance at them and they fell silent.

Time crawled past. Jett was sure at least an hour had gone by and still they had not received the signal. Had the communication been jammed? Perhaps the White Claw had anticipated this. Perhaps they used that same tower as an outpost and had ambushed Narzu’chev and his men before they could—

 _No!_ he chided himself. _Don’t be stupid. Reconnaissance would have picked it up. Anyway, they’re too arrogant to think they need to stretch beyond the safety of their stronghold. You should know._

And so they waited.

And waited.

“Maybe you should join Syldron,” Theron said, nodding towards the red Twi’lek who sat cross-legged in his chair, eyes closed. A few of the Republic troopers glanced at him strangely, but Jett knew he was wise to meditate, especially before something as harrowing as a battle. He closed his eyes and tried to enter the self-induced trance which could form the meaning between life and death. Perhaps he could even reconnect with the Force. Perhaps he could even reach mastery over himself.

But he was too keyed up. His mind refused to sink into his surroundings.

It was as his eyes snapped open again that a burst of static sounded from the speaker. The pilot's voice spoke.

“Signal received!” he said. “Singal received! The tower has fallen. I repeat: the tower has fallen. Operation Firstrike is a go.”

Bursting into life again, the vehicle lurched forward, no doubt following its brethren as it navigated through the abandoned streets. With his mind’s eye, Jett saw them all racing through the dark, clouds of dust and dirt billowing up in its wake as they hurtled towards their destination. Any moment, he expected to feel the familiar thump as one of the mutant Humans landed on the roof and then the ripping of metal as it began to tear its way in. But no such thing happened. Several minutes passed with no disruptions. Those several minutes turned into half an hour, a full hour, an hour and a half. Jett breathed a sigh of relief. Narzu’chev’s plan had worked. They were in the clear!

“We’re clear of mutant territory,” the pilot said, once again speaking over the intercom. “I repeat: clear of mutant territory. Operation Firestrike in progress.”

Unimpeded, the transport hurtled on. Not even a trickle of danger sense reached Jett’s perception. The entire cabin even cheered and whooped in celebration. Only Syldron, who had now come out of his meditative state, looked unhappy.

“What is it?”

He looked at him, eyes full of anguish. “I just had a vision.”

A chill sent its way down Jett’s back. “What?”

“It’s a trap,” the red Twi’lek said, his skin going pink with fear. His warning came with such conviction that everyone in the cabin stopped celebrating at once.

No sooner had he said it than the first explosion took place. It was way too close and far too loud. The cabin rocked violently, sending those who were standing crashing awkwardly to the floor or back into their seats. Jett’s eyes widened as what sounded like mortar fire bombarded the ground outside. He thought he also heard hooting along with the loud, unwelcome hum of a hovercraft. Elara Dorne took to the periscope, turning it towards the rear of the vehicle.

“It’s Black Sun!” she cried. “They’re firing on us.”

More explosions. The ground quaked violently.

“Aric,” Dorne cried. “Get into the turret. Quick!”

Aric Jorgan did not need to be told twice. He clambered into the seat that controlled the transport's exterior turret then began firing. Even inside the cabin, the red lights of each bolt flared bright, searing into their eyes. Theron swore as yet another explosion very nearly hit them.

“Dammit!” Jorgan craned his neck. “Pilot, I can’t get a clear shot if you keep swerving about the place.”

“Oh, yes!” Lieutenant Dorne snapped. “He should just stay in a straight line and wait for us to be blown to pieces!”

Jorgan glared at her. Then, a flashing icon on his targeting screen drew his attention. His eyes widened.

“There are two more of them,” he said and, sure, enough, the mortar fire increased. It rocked the cabin so hard that Jett was sent tumbling to the floor and Theron went careening into the wall.

“Theron!”

Theron looked around, dazed, a bloody lump on the side of his temple.

“I’m okay,” he said, though faintly.

A hand clasped Jett’s own. It was Syldron who had crawled across the floor towards him.

“We need to help them!” he said.

“How?”

“Just follow my lead.” He shut his eyes, once again falling into a trance. Jett barely had time to think when he too, almost by habit, shut his eyes and fell into the Force.

It was like trying to hear a whisper from far away. The Force felt more distant than ever but Syldron was there with him. As one, they reached out, taking in the chaos that was happening outside. It all played out like a slow-mo holo-film. There were the dropships, hovering in the air like a trio of deadly buzzards, Black Sun thugs hanging out the hatchways as they aimed blasters at the caravan of Republic military vehicles, all of whom had broken formation. Jett and Syldron swept past them, through the middle ship’s cockpit and into the wiring and mechanics. There they found the power couplings which linked to main engines. With a single twitch of thought, they sent a surge of power through them which flared through the ship and caused a chain reaction of explosions that led to the engine on the right wing blowing open. The buzzard fell back, forced to land. But there was still two more and Jett could feel himself slipping already. He couldn’t do this! The Force was pushing him back, recognising his impure heart and blocking him from using its power.

He gasped coming back into the cabin with a lurch. Syldron’s eyes snapped open.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I can’t,” Jett panted. “I can’t.”

“You have to!”

Taking his hand once again, Syldron pushed him back into the Force and beseeched the power to reach out and destroy the drop ships hovering above them. But a searing pain was twisting like a knife driven through Jett’s head. He was brought back in a matter of seconds, feeling significantly weaker.

“I— I can’t,” he said. “Too— Too weak.”

The words had no sooner left his lips when, with an almighty lurch, the transport tilted forward, into what must’ve been a mortar blast taking place right in front of it. The ground beneath him vanished for a moment. All was dark and confusion. Then the transport crashed down through, what felt like, the ground itself.

“We’re in the tunnel system,” the pilot announced over the intercom. “We should be safe down here.”

Jett did not think so somehow. Even with several metres of durasteel above them, debris rained down on the roof as the buzzards still tried to hit them. If they weren’t careful, they would be buried under a pile of rubble, unable to go anywhere, and then where would they be?

“Pilot!” Dorne screamed. “ _Stop_!”

The transport ground to a halt. Everyone slid forward.

“Lieutenant—“ the pilot began but Dorne raised a hand.

“Just wait.”

They waited. Above them, they heard the buzzards circling overhead. And then, miraculously, the sound of them faded away. Dorne breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s all right,” she said, “they think they buried us.”

“What if they come back?” Jorgan asked.

“I doubt it. More likely they’ve been tasked to chase all the other vehicles. In any case, looks like we are exactly where we need to be.”

She was right. Though they were at least a few kilometres away from the White Claw sanctum, they were now in the old sewer tunnels that would lead them right underneath the structure. And with the Black Sun and White Claw preoccupied with fending off the rest of their battalion, they may yet still have the element of surprise.

“Should we drive on?” the pilot asked after a moment.

Dorne glanced at Jargon, who nodded.

“Slowly,” she confirmed. “Follow the map precisely.”

They resumed course. Dorne immediately saw to Theron who had been stunned during the fight but was now beginning to recover.

“Look at me,” Dorne said, raising a finger before his eyes. “Now follow this.” She brought it back and forth and Theron kept his gaze fixed on her fingertip. “No concussion,” she concluded. “Just a bit of a bump. You’ll live.”

“How much further have we got?” Jett asked, trying to disguise his relief that Theron wasn’t badly injured.

“About ten klicks,” Jorgan said, inspecting his holo-pad. He glanced at Urza, Glizz and the others. “Are you ready?”

Nods all around.

“Glizz is longing for bloodshed,” the Trandoshan hissed, licking the side of his vibroblade. “Will earn many points for Scorekeeper.”

In next to no time, they ground to a halt. Dorne once again at the periscope checked the exterior was clear of the enemy before nodding.

“Coast is clear,” she announced. “Let’s move out.”


	28. The Inner Sanctum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penetrating the inner fortress of the White Claw sanctum, Jett, Theron, and the rest of the strike team fight their way towards Albanar only to make a shocking discovery.

The hatchway hissed open, landing on the ground with a dull, echoing thunk. Light from the cabin spilt onto what could’ve been the void of outer space. Rifles raised, Lieutenant Dorne, Aric Jorgan and the rest of the Republic troopers filed out of the transport. Then came Urza, Glizz and the rest of Narzu’chev’s crew with Jett, Theron and Syldron bringing up the rear. The transport pilot clambered out of the cockpit to join the party with a pistol of his own and, together, they set off into the dark passage

Those who had torches switched them on, beams cutting through the impenetrable blackness like white-hot knives. Jett and Syldron activated their lightsabres though they both prayed they wouldn’t need them. Beside them, Aric Jorgan inspected his holo-map.

“It’s on the next right,” he said. “There should be a ladder.”

Sure enough, upon the first bend, they came across the bottom rungs of a rusted ladder ascending to a trapdoor made of durasteel.

“We’ll climb up one at a time,” Lieutenant Dorne said. She pointed her torch at the red-haired soldier. “You first, Wier.”

Wier holstered his rifle then began to climb. It took some effort on his part to open the trapdoor but once he managed it, he poked his head through the gap.

“Clear!” he called down.

“All right,” Dorne said. She gestured at two other soldiers. “You two, guard the entrance then come up after Jorgan. I’ll go last.”

Narzu’chev’s crew went up next, followed by Syldron, then Theron. When it came to be Jett’s turn, he had barely taken hold of the grimy, rusted bottom rung when he stopped, his ears pricked. Aric Jorgan halted too and they looked at each other, both of them aware that the other had heard it.

“What’s wrong?”

Jorgan regarded Dorne, alarm growing on his face. “Something is coming.”

A second later, the rest of them heard it and it was the sound Jett had been most dreading — the scuttling of many feet and hands.

“Climb!” Jorgan urged him. “Lieutenant, I better stay down here after all.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “As soon as Jett goes up, you’re next.” She saw Jett hadn’t moved. “Go! We’ll hold them off.” She and the remaining soldiers raised their rifles, pointing it at the entrance to the tunnel they’d just entered.

The scuttling grew louder, and louder, soon accompanied by screams. Jett was almost to the top when he saw them — eerie green pupils glowing in the dark, pale Human faces caught in the light of the torches. Their mouths were stretched hideously wide and they were advancing on them with frightening speed. Would they follow them up the ladder?

Without hesitating, Dorne and the two remaining soldiers opened fire. The sound of the blaster shots ricochetted up and down the tunnel as the bolts hit their mark. More screams. More inhuman screeches. Jett forced himself to look away and continue to climb. Within moments he was up and through the trapdoor, standing next to Theron. Aric Jorgan quickly followed.

“Hurry!” he called back down to those who remained.

Proper Human screams reached Jett’s ears now and he closed his eyes, imagining the two soldiers being torn apart. Elara Dorne, white-faced and shaken came last. She jumped through, just as a dead, white hand slashed at her ankle. Jorgan blasted it and it fell away. Next second, Weir grunted against the heavy door and it fell back into place, sealing it. Beneath the durasteel, they heard the things shriek and claw at the metal in anger. Jett had visions of them tearing it apart piece-by-piece, as they had done with the roof of the commandeered vehicle they’d attacked while he was with the White Claw.

After a moment, however, the scratches stopped and the sounds ceased altogether. Jett frowned. Why had they given up their pursuit? They seemed pretty persistent the last time. A peculiar, spicy scent reached his nose and he glanced up. Dangling over the trapdoor in a metal bracket was some kind of incense. It was arranged in such a way that it was pretty easy to gather that this was what prevented the mutant Humans from tearing their way into the White Claw sanctum. He supposed he should have been thankful.

“Is everyone all right?” Lieutenant Dorne asked.

Everyone nodded.

“Jek and Ritz,” Jorgan muttered, referring to the two soldiers left behind. “Are they‑—?”

Dorne nodded. “They practically threw me up the ladder. They gave their lives to make sure I got away.”

There was a moment’s silence. Urza drew her knife and made a kind-of ritualistic symbol across her chest, muttering something in her native tongue.

“Their sacrifice will be remembered,” Dorne said. She stood up. “For now, let us press on.”

For the first time, they became aware of their surroundings. They seemed to have emerged into a kind of storeroom littered with crates, most containing food but also weapons and ammo. Otherwise, the place was empty.

“Do you hear that?” Jorgan asked Jett.

He listened. Distant, muffled but clear, he heard the sounds of battle — blaster fire, men screaming, explosions.

“We’ve engaged them,” Aric Jorgan said. “I think it’s safe to try and find the audience chamber.”

Urza and Glizz had gone on ahead. They opened the main door, peered up and down the corridor outside then gestured for them to follow. Jett kept his lightsabre hilt ready at his side so he could use it at a moment’s notice. So did Syldron. Theron wielded both his blasters, as tense and alert as a manka cat.

“So far so good,” he muttered.

“Target is five floors above us,” Jorgan said, consulting his map once more. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

Weir accidentally knocked into one of Narzu’chev’s minions and he wheeled his weapon around.

“Watch it!” he said.

The Twi’lek sneered at him then muttered what was an unmistakably curse in Huttese. Weir rounded on him.

“What the hell did you say to me?”

“Will you two be quiet?” Dorne snapped.

“A good leader would learn to keep all her subordinates in check,” Urza muttered. She raised her dagger. “Your trooper should learn to watch his temper.”

Weir glowered at her but Dorne remained aloof.

“I’ll be sure to apply your feedback once this is over,” she said.

Urza grinned. “You’re welcome, _e chu ta_.”

Dorce elected to ignore the insult.

Reaching the end of the corridor, they found a stairwell and began to climb. Still, they hadn’t met anyone. Jett didn’t like it. Although every available fighter might have been called to battle, he found it unnerving how there were no guards. Surely, they had to be here somewhere! Either his danger sense was telling him that nothing about this smelt right or being back among these familiar corridors was affecting him more than he realised. He hated being here again. Though it had been mere days, flashes of his time in the White Claw’s captivity kept searing across his vision. He had to hold back, lest he was undone by them. But the images persisted and he had to close his eyes and grit his teeth.

“Jett?” Theron looked around, concerned.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

He could tell at once Theron didn’t believe him but he didn’t ask any more questions. He just nodded and continued facing forward, blasters at the ready.

Higher and higher they climbed and still, there was no sign of a living, breathing soul. Now the rest of them were beginning to look unnerved.

“Shouldn’t there be guards?” It was Urza who voiced what they were all thinking.

“I don’t sense anyone nearby,” Syldron said.

“Really?” Jett asked. “Nothing?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Either we got extremely lucky,” Lieutenant Dorne said, “Or—”

Her sentence faltered as the air shimmered around them. They had just reached the fifth floor and suddenly, they were surrounded. Twelve White Claw agents were aiming blasters at them and they didn’t hesitate before they opened fire. Born of their time with Havoc Squad, Elara Dorne and Aric Jorgan’s reflexes were legendary, and they quickly returned fire before the first shots hit them. Two White Claw agents fell but the rest remained standing.

Activating his lightsaber, Syldron moved forward to deflect the bolts aimed at members of the team who could not find cover. Jett did the same, jumping in front of Theron, though once or twice he missed and the bolt almost hit him. Without his usual help from the Force’s precognition, he barely had enough time to detect when the next bolt would come, making both he and Theron vulnerable.

While the Republic troopers used blasters, Narzu’cehv’s crew moved forward, drawing their melee weapons and engaging their opponents with lithe and slick movements. It was incredible to behold. Urza seemed to dance rather than fight — slitting the throat of one enemy then throwing a knife into the head of another. Glizz, on the other hand, almost slithered as he sliced off limbs.

Though they were a strong fighting group, victory cost them their three remaining Republic troops and two of Narzu’chev’s men — one of the Twi’leks and the only Human. By the time it was over, the hallway was full of smoke and the smell of singeing hair and blaster fire.

“How did we not sense them?” Jett asked Syldron who shook his head.

“They must’ve been using some kind of cloaking technology,” he said as he helped Lieutenant Dorne back to her feet. “But even that couldn’t mask one’s presence in the Force, unless… “ His face dawned with comprehension. “Sorcery,” he muttered.

Jett didn’t doubt him. He dreaded to think what kinds of arcane tactics were being used on the forces outside. Nevertheless, with Darred Quell and Master Linn with them, he was sure they would be able to counter them.

After inspecting their dead, Jorgan straightened up and consulted his map once more. “We’re nearly there. It’s just down this hall.”

Jett needn’t be told. A cold wave of familiarity washed over him as they made their way to a pair of giant metal doors. He had been led down this corridor once before and into the room beyond where he was forced to slay an unarmed prisoner.

 _Don’t think about that_.

He raised his lightsabre, ready to meet whatever was waiting for them inside. He sensed nothing, but that didn’t mean very much; either his flimsy Force connection was playing up again or Albanar had decided to use the same stealth methods as his footmen.

Theron found the door’s control panel. With a deftness that Jett had never seen before, he sliced the controls and the great doors hissed open.

The audience chamber was empty.

Spreading out, they inspected every corner of the wide space. It was dimly lit but had an odd, reddish glow as if from some unseen ethereal light. Jett reached the foot of the throne-like chair at the front and more images assaulted him.

A headless corpse at his feet. His lightsabre humming beside him. His masters’ approval raining down on him through wide, satisfied grins.

He shook his head.

 _That was not me. That was not_ me _!_

And yet it had been him. Out of nothing but pure fear, he had taken his weapon and used it to murder somebody in cold blood. Not just anyone — a Republic troop who probably had a family. And he had killed him, just like that.

“Nobody’s here.” Theron glanced around, anxiety written all over his face. “But I thought this—”

Then the trap sprung. More White Claw agents — a lot of them — appeared out of a haze in front of the door, blocking their only means of escape.

The firefight resumed. Taking Theron, Jett dived behind the throne. Blaster fire hit it from the other side relentlessly. Theron reached around and fired with his blasters, but for every White Claw agent he killed, another five seemed to appear.

“There are too many of them!” Theron yelled above the noise just as Syldron skidded to join them.

“There has to be another way out,” Jett said.

“Where?”

He gestured. “Over there. The last time I was— I was here, I remember some of them coming from that wing.”

Theron nodded. “It’s our best shot. Let’s go!”

Ducking low, they ran for the westernmost wing of the audience chamber. Blaster fire was everywhere, hitting stone masonry and disintegrating pillars. Jett just had time to witness Aric Jorgan fall back, clutching his shoulder before he, Theron and Syldron disappeared behind a second door.

Beyond was another staircase that only went down.

“Do you think they’ll follow us?” Syldron said, panting.

“Probably,” Theron answered. “Let’s move!”

“Wait!” Jett held up a hand. “He’s close. Albanar’s close. I can feel him.” It was true. The cold, dark-side presence was somewhere just below them.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“All right.” Theron reloaded his pistols. “Then we should get ready to engage.”

They flew down the stairwell, reaching the bottom stairs where a third door rose before them. Their only choice was to go through it. They didn’t even bother to check if it was locked; Theron blasted the controls and it flew open. They dashed through it.

They found themselves in a kind of laboratory. Hulking machinery whirred on either side of the room, the walls flanked with shelves upon shelves of organs in jars — hearts, lungs, even brains. The air had a metallic, sterile taste to it. It brought back more unpleasant memories for Jett who buckled under the weight of them.

Electric shocks. Needles pumping the Force-only-knew what into his body.

“Jett?” Theron stopped to take hold of him. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“It’s…” Jett lowered his hand. “It’s _him_.”

In the centre of the laboratory stood Lord Albanar. He was dressed in his usual white garments — regal, sophisticated and utterly maddening in its sleek, perfect style. The red jewel he always wore glimmered, almost seeming to pulse in the harsh glow of the lights. He stared openly at the three of them then smiled.

“Jett,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Beside him crouched the Director. She regarded them all myopically, whimpering at the sight of their weapons. She was bending over a large white box which was open. Inside were rows upon rows of vials containing a toxic green liquid.

“That crate…” Theron recognised it too. “It was on the _Hummingbird._ ”

Albanar chuckled. “Astute as ever, Agent Shan. Pity you picked the wrong side.”

Syldron moved forward, his face set, his lightsabre ready.

“Lord Albanar,” he said. “In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic, you are under arrest.”

Albanar’s pink eyes flitted between them all, his long fingers curling at his side.

“I _am_ the Republic, you silly little Twi’lek,” he said. “Don’t you see? Your time is now over. Your Supreme Chancellor is in hiding. Your forces are scattered and in disarray. Your senators are motioning laws suited to our aims because we’d kill them and their families if they don’t. Arrest me? What good would that do?”

The Director’s lip continued to tremble. Her eyes kept darting from the three of them to the crate which lay at her feet.

“I didn’t mean for it to get this far,” she whispered, wringing her hands. “You must believe me, I—”

“Quiet!” Albanar’s voice was like a whipcrack and the Director fell silent.

“What’s in that crate?” Theron demanded.

Albanar looked disappointed. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? It is the Final Solution, Agent Shan — the last weapon that will wipe the alien scum off the face of Coruscant.”

Theron’s eyes went wide with horror.

“You mean—?”

“A bioweapon.” Albanar bowed his head. “Yes. Designed to eliminate all non-Human life. So I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you unless you want your comrades to drop dead.”

He nodded at Syldron whose face was filled with revulsion and anger.

“How did you even get your hands on this thing?” he demanded.

“Ah, that would be telling,” Albanar said. “I don’t want to give away all my secrets.”

“Well, you’re going to spill it either way,” Theron snarled. “Before I put several holes in your chest.”

“It was the Empire!” the Director blurted out. “They provided everything. Black Sun managed to funnel all our assets thro—“

The air cracked as Albanar backhanded her across the face.

“I told you to be quiet!” he snarled.

“Give it up,” Theron said. “There are three of us and two of you. A whole army of our troops are outside and they’ll storm the building any minute. Spare yourself any more trouble and you might get out of this in one piece.”

Albanar cocked an eyebrow. “Better check your maths again, Agent Shan.” Lip curling into a smile, he spoke the command, “ _Signal One_.”

It was as though red tentacles had wrapped themselves around Jett’s brain. His whole body was frozen. No matter what he did, he could not move.

“Jett?” Theron said. “What’s going on?”

“Now, my dear Jett.” Albanar’s voice was inside his mind as much as in his ear. “Kill them both.”

Muscles acting of their own accord, Jett raised his lightsabre towards Theron.

“Jett!” Syldron said. “Snap out of it.”

But he could not, _will_ not. He had to obey his master, for he was nothing more than a beast and a pet to be used against the White Claw’s enemies.

He had to kill them. He _would_ kill them.

Kill.

“No!” The word burst from his mouth in a deafening roar. The vials in the lab seemed to shake with the vibration of it. “I won’t. I will not.”

“You will obey,” the silken voice whispered. “You will obey my every command.”

Arms jerking forward, he swung at Theron who only managed to jump out of the way just in time.

“Jett!” he said. “Stop! This isn’t you.”

He roared again, slashing through the air in a frenzy. Before his blade could cause any damage, however, Syldron leapt in front of him. The two exchanged ferocious blows — one, two, one, two — before the pommel of Jett’s hilt smacked Syldron across the temple, knocking the Twi’lek backwards.

Saliva dribbled from Jett’s mouth as he advanced on Theron. The Human fool had not even raised his blaster to defend himself.

“Jett…” he said. “Please.”

Their eyes locked together and for an instant, Jett hesitated.

What was he doing? Why was he attacking the man that he loved?

“Obey me!” Albanar shrieked inside his head. “Obey me, you miserable little animal. _Obey_!”

Something broke inside Jett. He felt it as tangibly as a dropped vase. He screwed up his eyes, lowering his lightsabre as he fought off the unnatural influence over his mind. And then, it was as if a dam had burst — a dam not containing water, but fire. It burned hot and bright through his entire nervous system and, all at once, the red tentacles were purged from his body.

He was himself again.

But that wasn’t entirely true. No. He was more than himself. He realised, with a surge of delight that the Force — all bright and ever-burning — had come to him once more. And there was something else. His _rakktarr_. It burned alongside it like an all-devouring conflagration. Yet it was in no way terrible. It gave him a sense of life, a sense of purpose that he had never felt before. It burst from his being in a single shockwave. Around them, all the vials in the lab shattered. Albanar was thrown backwards, and the Director fell over the crate containing the bioweapon.

At last. He was free.

He turned back to his enemy — his true enemy — and watched him scramble up from the floor. His pink eyes blazed fury.

“Impossible!” he snarled. “How did you—?”

“You no longer have power over me,” Jett said. His voice was louder, thrumming in his eardrums. He extended a hand, his claws extended to their sharpest point. “You won’t have power over anyone again.”

Albanar didn’t move. There was a sizzling, electric hiss and a line of red plasma sprouted from his hand. The White Claw leader raised his crimson lightsabre with the elegance of a makashi practitioner. The blade was like a crescent of fire and, oddly, slightly curved like that of a real ancient sword. With his other hand, he grabbed the Director and brought the scarlet blade to her throat. She gasped and whimpered in his hold.

“Come any closer and I’ll cut her open.”

Jett halted in his tracks.

“You won’t,” he muttered. “You need her. Without her, the bioweapon is useless to you.” Even as he spoke, he knew he was right. Albanar’s hesitation seemed to confirm it. “Surrender,” he said, raising his own sky-blue blade. “This is your last chance.”

For a long moment, only the hum of their blades filled the air.

Then, smirking, never taking his eyes off Jett, Lord Albanar drew his lightsabre along the Director’s throat. She fell from his grip, mouth opening and closing like a fish gagging for air. There was barely any time to react before Albanar gathered the Force and sent it hurling across the laboratory. Jett, Theron and Syldron were knocked aside. More lab equipment crashed and shattered. Distantly, they heard Albanar hare across the lab and through another door.

Jett sprang to his feet, shaking off shards of broken glass from his fur. Syldron was next, followed by Theron who immediately rushed to the body of the Director laying where she had fallen.

“I wouldn’t say she didn’t get what she deserved,” Theron muttered grimly as he knelt to examine her. “But that was pretty cold-blooded.” He looked up at Jett. “Is he really gone? From your mind, I mean?”

Jett nodded.

“Good.” Theron glanced at the open crate. “I’ll take care of this. You and Syldron go and get that son of a Hutt.”

“Right,” Jett said. “Don’t wait up. We’ll be back soon.”

Theron paid him one last affectionate look. Then abandoning all pretence, he got up and kissed Jett deeply and passionately. Jett was vaguely aware of Syldron standing awkwardly to one side but he didn’t care.

“Be careful,” Theron said. “And make sure you come back to me in one piece.”

“I will,” Jett said, grinning.

Nuzzling his lover’s nose, he nodded at Syldron and the two of them went after Lord Albanar.

“So, you and Theron…” Syldron was almost blushing. “How long has that been going on?”

Jett smirked. “I’ll tell you later.”

“All right,” the Twi’lek said. “But it better be a good story.”


	29. The Beast Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jett and Syldron finally catch up with Albanar and engage him in a final confrontation.
> 
> **WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of graphic violence.**

As soon as they exited the lab, they broke into a run. Using the force to enhance their speed, corridors whizzed past them. They sped up staircases, through long opulent rooms and past pockets of troops engaged with the enemy. They encountered few obstacles, and the White Claw agents that swiped or shot at them were quickly dispatched.

At last, they caught sight of Lord Albanar. Red lightsabre still drawn, his pink eyes widened in shock as he saw them. Then, gesticulating wildly, he bellowed, “Kill them!” at another gaggle of his subordinates who immediately opened fire on Jett and Syldron. While he deflected their onslaught, Jett felt the fire of his _rakktarr_ , fuelled by battle, burn hotter and hotter. Even without his lightsabre, he was terrible to behold. White Claw men and women fled at the mere sight of him.

“Come on!” Syldron said. “We’re gaining on him.”

They rushed on, the carpets whispering beneath their feet, blades an azure streak across the blur of their bodies, as they almost flew after their quarry. More agents attempted to stop them, but they may as well not have bothered; the two barely even paused for breath before dispatching them. Together, they were a whirlwind of death, a living embodiment of the justice that was coming for Albanar on swift wings.

Finally, the corridors gave over to an archway that led out onto a landing platform. A small shuttlecraft stood before them — lightly armoured and ill-suited for space travel, but enough for Albanar to use as a getaway vehicle. The man was just climbing up the ramp as Jett and Syldron burst through the arch, his white coat flapping behind him.

“Oh, no, you don’t!”

Syldron reached up, snaring the tail of Albanar’s coat with the Force, then pulled his fist back past his shoulder. Albanar yelped as he was yanked backwards, rolling over and over on the platform as he was dragged further away from the shuttle. With a snarl of rage, he sent a wave of energy hurling at Syldron who would’ve been tossed backwards several metres had he not let go of Albanar’s cape and blocked the attack.

Regardless, his hold was broken and Albanar was on his feet. His lightsabre was back on his belt but a red glow seemed to illuminate his pale Human features, a glow which seemed to emit from the jewel around his throat. His long white hair fell in strands across his face as he regarded them with an almost bestial snarl.

Jett raised his lightsabre, _rakktarr_ continuing to burn and sizzle like a roaring fire in his belly.

“It’s over, Albanar,” he said, his voice deeper than it normally was, carrying with it an authority he didn’t know he had. “Surrender.”

The snarl disappeared. Then, almost as if realising what an uncivilised sight he seemed, Albanar straightened, pushed his hair out of his eyes, then clasped both hands behind his back. Jett advanced warily, Syldron just behind, both their lightsabres angled upright in case of a surprise attack.

“Very well,” Albanar said, then smiled outright. “I _surrender_.”

A crate from the other end of the platform hurtled towards them. Jett, whose focus was entirely on Albanar, did not see it coming until it was too late. It hit him squarely in the shoulder, knocking him back several feet. It had also glanced a blow across his brow, and he could feel blood running down the side of his cheek, matting in his fur. Landing hard on his back, he coughed and tried to get back up, but his head was spinning.

He heard an electric hum and, out the corner of his blurred vision, he saw Syldron’s and Albanar’s blade swish and clash against one another in a storm of red and blue lightning. With dismay, Jett realised Albanar’s exotic curved weapon gave him the upper hand, seeming to move in ways a normal blade couldn’t. It managed to reach places around Syldron’s defence in an almost perverse fashion, causing the Twi’lek to realise he was being caught off-guard far too many times and switch to a more evasive style.

“Not so brave now your bigger friend is out of the picture,” Albanar taunted, whirling and whipping with a swish of his white coat.

Even though his dazed vision, Jett could tell Syldron was being overwhelmed by the relentless blows of the scarlet lightsabre. But he held firm, desperately and bravely holding the enemy off.

“Jett,” he whimpered. “Hurry!”

Jett tried once again to stand, calling on the Force to help him focus. But it was no good. He gritted his teeth, urging his mind to focus. Syldron needed him. He could not face Albanar alone! There had to be something he could do to help.

He glanced to his left, his eyes falling on the crate that had stunned him. Its lid had flown off and its contents had spilt onto the platform. Detonators! Calling on the Force, Jett reached out, levitated three of them into the air then, with all his might, propelled them towards Albanar.

Syldron saw them coming and ducked. Albanar was not so lucky. With a cry, he threw up a Force barrier just as the detonators set off — three miniature supernovae that deafened them all with their bangs. Beneath it all, however, Jett thought he heard the sound of something shattering like a small meteor crashing through a viewport.

When the blinding explosions cleared, Jett swept the smoke out of the way with a broad gesture. Syldron was on his knees, catching his breath, lightsabre hilt still humming in his hand. Albanar was several metres away, almost on the very lip of the platform which gave way to the battles taking place far below outside the entrance to the White Claw sanctum. At first, Jett thought he was unconscious, but then he moved, stumbling back onto his feet, one hand covering his face.

Jett squinted. At the Human’s feet appeared to be remnants of red. He thought it was blood until he saw Albanar’s neck and realised that the jewel that usually resided there had broken.

Albanar lowered his hand, revealing the face beneath it.

It was though Jett had plummetted back into an old nightmare. Indeed, as he gazed upon Albanar’s face — his _true_ face — he was convinced that the crate hit him harder than he thought and that he now must be hallucinating. This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be real! Only Syldron’s incredulous gasp told him that this was no delirium.

Where there had been a pale Human face with pink eyes was now a white-furred feline one whose eyes blazed with a red as intense as the blade which still hung at Albanar’s side. Jett had seen this face only once before. Even back then, he remembered convincing himself that face had been nothing more than a phantom — an echo of a bad dream conjured by his broken mind. But no. That face was real and it was who Albanar truly was. Not a Human. Not a Human at all.

He was a Cathar – the same Cathar who had climbed atop his naked body and violated him while he’d been drugged or put under a spell.

Jett felt sick.

He had no time to penetrate his shocked disbelief when Albanar’s feline mouth split into a mocking smile. He reached up with a clawed hand and ripped the remains of the gaudy jewel from his neck, throwing it away.

“So the veil is now lifted.” The red sabre twirled at his side. “Well, now you’ve seen what I really look like, I am going to have to kill you both for sure.” He pointed his weapon at Syldron. “Starting with you, little Twi’lek.”

Syldron barely had time to raise his blade before Albanar swooped down on him. Scarlet lightning clashed with blue once again but, this time, Jett could feel Syldron’s strength waning. Meanwhile, his own body was failing to respond.

 _Come on!_ he urged his brain. _I need to help him._

At last, the stupified fog seemed to lift and he could raise his head properly. Next came his arms, then the rest of his upper body.

“Come on!” he growled. “Come _on!”_

The clash and hissing of lightsabres intensified. Jett could sense Syldron faltering. Desperation and despair reeked from the Twi’lek as he was pushed back, and back, and back. And then his lightsabre was knocked out of his hand. He barely even registered the hilt clattering to the deck when the red blade sliced across his abdomen. Jett cried out, both in pain and anguished, as though he too had been cut but the crescent-shaped weapon. Syldron crumpled. His body hit the floor with one arm splayed outwards as if to reach for the lightsabre that was now too far for him to grab. He tried to crawl onto his front, clutching his stomach with his robotic hand. Then Albanar, standing over him, raised his lightsabre and brought it down through his chest and into the deck beneath him. Jett screamed. Syldron’s pleading eyes met his for the briefest moment before the light left them and they became nothing more than two sightless glassy orbs.

Guilt and sorrow impaled Jett with a hotter blade than any lightsabre. Seeing Syldron there, lying as still as Qo’ra had been in the Republic prison block, threatened to tear him in two.

And then came the rage.

Albanar, grin still plastered on his face, stepped over the body and advanced on him, his eyes blazing.

“Will you at least give me a challenge before you die?” he said. “Or would you rather I skewer you to the platform like the kath hound that you are?”

Jett got to his feet. Within him, his _rakktarr_ burned hotter than a volcanic eruption. He regarded Albanar, bright green eyes gazing into fiery red ones, one dark face twisting with grim determination, one light face with arrogant mockery.

“You should not have done that.”

Albanar’s expression became incredulous.

“Why? Because you’ve got nobody else to use as a shield?” He twirled the crimson lightsaber, making it hum in that electric, unnatural way. “You may have broken your conditioning, but you will always be mine, Jett Jhazar.”

Jett said nothing. Then, he thrust out a hand. A silver lightsabre hilt soared through the air, barely missing Albanar’s whiskers as it flew past his head, then landed straight into Jett’s palm. He let it come alive and the blade sizzled with renewed purpose as it extended from the hilt in a brilliant snap-hiss. He crossed Syldron’s blade with his own in front of him, forming a sky-blue X before him, then letting them fall to his side in an open ready-stance.

Albanar snarled.

“Very well,” he said. “You have chosen death.”

He raised his curved blade before him in the Makashi salute. Jett, closing his stance, imitated him, raising Syldron’s weapon in front of his eyes.

A second later, Albanar leapt forward. He angled his lightsabre down, intending to impale Jett where he stood. Jett ducked out of the way, knocking Albanar’s sabre out of the way with a glancing blow. He barely had time to think before Albanar rose and came slashing at him from all angles — up top, to the left, to the right, up top again. Never breaking his footing, Jett parried each strike with an airtight defence. He realised that his earlier assumption had been right. Albanar’s curved blade provided leverage no conventional weapon could ever afford. Several times, he came very close to slicing off Jett’s fingers. The tip of the weapon was far more effective at reaching the lower and higher parts of an opponent’s blade, managing to reveal weaknesses that not eve Jett knew a normal lightsabre had. But all these unorthodox strikes revealed Alabanar’s strategy — to overwhelm the opponent with quick and strong attacks until one finally penetrated Jett’s guard and finished him in a single blow. The flaw with this was that it was taxing, exerting a lot of energy in an attempt to get past the wall of plasma. This meant that, soon enough, Albanar will grow tired, giving Jett the perfect opportunity to strike back. All he had to do was wait,

But Albanar was not that foolish.

He mixed in his sword cuts with light-footed gymnastics. When his blade failed to cut through Jett’s defence, he blasted both blades to one side then landed several kicks in the centre of his chest. Winded, Jett fell back, only to raise his weapon again to block what would have been a killing blow. He also used the Force with uncanny deftness, blasting Jett with Force pushes that sent him skidding across the platform. This, more than anything, was to create enough distance between them so that he could catch his breath. The second time he managed this, Jett landed against the hull of the shuttle, all the air exploding out of his lungs. He barely had a second to roll out of the way as Albanar blade came down once more, missing his head and slicing the fuselage in two.

“ _No_!”

Albanar screamed in frustration as a small explosion disabled the shuttle’s engine, rendering it unflyable. Then, with low growls, he turned towards Jett who once again had the defensive stance. He began to laugh.

“You may have caused me to damage my means of escape,” he said. “But you’ve still yet to kill me. Do you think you can do it, _Jedi_?”

Jett’s hackles rose. “You’ll find I’m full of surprises!”

They exchanged five more blows. This time, Jett used the Force to propel his enemy back. With a roar, he leapt into the air, blades arcing down. They would have met their mark had not a burst of indigo lightning struck him square in the chest. He roared again, this time in agony, as bolts of electricity coursed through him. He fell to the ground, rolling to a stop. His vision went dark for a moment then came back in full force, along with the smell of burnt hair.

“You’re not the only one full of surprises,” Albanar snarled.

Jett got to his feet, quickly reactivating his blades to block any more sudden attacks. But it seemed that one large burst of lightning was all Albanar could manage. His hand trembled as small bolts of electricity flickered around his claws. He squeezed it shut, teeth bared.

“Tell me something,” Jett said. “Why are you doing all this? You’re Cathar! You of all people should know how our people have suffered. The Mandalorians, the Sith… Why do you want to kill us all?”

Albanar growled.

“You know nothing,” he spat. “You think your people know what it means to suffer?” He placed a hand on his chest. “I used to be just like you. Weak. A slave not just to my instincts but to the Imperial family I was forced to serve. They whipped me and made me perform tricks for their amusement. To them, I was little more than a mindless beast. But they failed to realise that, every day, I was growing stronger until, eventually, I overcame my bestial nature and became what I always was. Human.” His fingers went to his temple. “That is who I truly am, Jett Jhazar. A Human being trapped in the body of a feral creature who could hardly speak Basic. But I showed them! I showed them all.” He raised his lightsabre to his eyes. “I stuck this very blade through the Sith Lord who kept me as his slave or, worse, as his _pet_ then took his weapon and every secret he possessed. I became strong. I evolved. I realised that no other member of the Cathar race or any other race would want to become Human as I had. That is why they all have to die.”

Jett stared. For once, something like pity stirred for the creature that stood in front of him. He imagined how Albanar had been stripped from his clan as a cub and forced to live, caged and helpless, under the thumb of the first Sith Lord who laid eyes on him.

He lowered his weapon.

“It’s not too late,” he said. “You can face your past and grow stronger from it. Let me help you, Albanar.”

For a moment, surprise flickered across Albanar’s white features. Something stirred behind his eyes as if he was seriously considering the offer. But it melted away until all that remained was pure hatred.

“No,” he snarled. “I will succumb to weakness again. I have sacrificed too much for my Humanity. I will not throw it away.”

“But you’re not Human!” Jett yelled at him. “That should be a matter of pride, not of shame.”

“It is when the entire galaxy treats you better for it. I’ve proven that more than anyone ever has. Even to you.” He raised his blade once again. “Face it, Jett! You’re nothing more than a beast. Mindless. Willless. A slave to your impulses. You lack the higher function it takes for true sentience. You and the rest of your kind.” He swiped at Jett who brought his guard back up just in time to block it. Through the sizzling blades, Albanar’s eyes burned as he said, “Tell me. What difference is there between you and a monster?”

Jett caught him by the wrist, claws digging deep into his opponent’s flesh. Albanar cried out as his lightsaber extinguished and tumbled to the floor. Jett leaned in until their noses were almost touching. Blood began to seep from the punctures in his arms until it ran in warm rivers along Jett’s own hand.

“I may be a beast,” he said. “But I am no monster. Unlike you.”

Terror quickly became fury as it warped Albanar’s features. Next second, there was an explosion of pain and Jett’s vision flashed white as Albanar headbutted him. He let go, dazed, feeling more blood seeping from his own nose. It didn’t appear to be broken but it smarted nonetheless. Besides, the intention was not to cause injury but for Albanar to pick up his lightsaber again and drive it into Jett’s stomach. Blind, Jett slashed wildly with his hand, scraping the inside of Albanar’s arm. Albanar roared with pain yet again, clutching at the torn material of his white — now stained red — sleeve. Jett threw himself at him. Both had quite forgotten their weapons which now lay feet from them. They had even forgotten about the Force. Now it was Cathar on Cathar — clawing slashing and biting wherever they could. Anyone at a distance might have thought two wild apex predators were fighting one another for dominance over a mate. There was nothing civilised about this engagement. It was wild, savage and utterly merciless.

Jett tried to use his much greater size to his advantage, attempting to lay on Albanar to stop him from moving. But the other was too quick. Albanar had managed to weasel his way onto Jett’s chest and now, with savage pleasure, he was jabbing his thumbs at Jett’s face. The strikes were painful but they kept missing their real target. Realising what Albanar was trying to do, Jett opened his mouth, letting his thumb fall inside. He bit down with almighty force. Albanar screamed again as Jett’s incisors tore through skin, muscle and then bone, severing his appendage completely.

Warm, coppery blood gushed into Jett’s mouth as his opponent reeled back, clutching his hand. He spat the thumb out, called upon his lightsabre and activated it, holding it centimetres away from Albanar’s throat.

“Do you yield?”

Delirious with agony and anger, Albanar began to laugh.

“To a filthy Cathar?” he snarled through his ragged, laboured breathing. “Never.”

“Sorry to keep disappointing you,” Jett panted, “but no matter how much you deny it, you’re as Cathar as I am.”

Albanar shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no. I’m Human. Up here, I am _Human_!” His rants then dissolved into jibbering that made Jett’s flesh crawl. “They locked me up, they did! Come here, look at the freak! Filthy little Cathar slave. Well, I showed them. I showed them all!” He hunched forward, no longer seeming to realise Jett was there. “So go on, then,” he muttered after falling into silence. “Finish the job.”

Jett lowered his blade.

“You’ll be taken into custody,” he said. “The Republic you seem to love so much will decide your fate.”

Albanar looked disappointed.

“Even after all I did to make you strong,” he said with a weak chuckle. “You’re still weak.” He opened his mouth wide, baring all his teeth. For the briefest moment, Jett saw the flash of something at the very back of his molar. Before Jett could stop him, he clamped his jawn down hard. There was a slight hiss and immediately his eyes began to glaze over.

“No!” Jett fell to his knees, grabbing Albanar by the front of his frock coat. “You won’t escape that easily.”

Albanar’s breath had become staccato. A smile grew on his face, the veins around his mouth and eyes livid and dark. He glanced at something past Jett’s shoulder then his breathing ceased altogether. Jett ripped open his coat and attempted to resuscitate him.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled. “Don’t die on me now. I can still help you! Please…”

But it was too late. Lord Albanar, leader of the White Claw, stared vacantly upwards. He was already dead.

Sometime later, Jett was unsure how much time had passed, he heard sounds — many feet rushing towards the hangar, soldiers shouting to one another. He hardly noticed. He was bent over Syldron’s lifeless body, cradling it in his arms. He was vaguely aware that it was Havoc Squad, led by Aric Jorgan and Elara Dorne, storming the rest of the sanctum and chasing out the last of its residents.

“A Cathar!” Jorgan shouted, seeing Lord Albanar’s body. “Is that…? No.”

“Lord Albanar,” Elara Dorne said, aghast. “But it can’t be! The file said he was Human.”

They spotted Jett kneeling over Syldron. Jorgan immediately called a medic over to see to his wounds. But Jett would not let go of his dead friend.

“Come on, now, kid,” Jorgan said, gruffly. “There’s nothing you can do for him.”

Jett ignored him.

“We can have the medic attend to him still,” Dorne said. “I can patch him up myself. Someone, get me a medkit!”

She spoke soothingly to Jett as she cleaned up the blood from his multiple scratch marks, bite wounds and other lacerations he had obtained during the battle. Apart from those and a few bumps, bruises, Dorne intoned, he was going to be all right. No lasting damage. Not physically, anyway.

“There you are,” she said, laying the last bandage over his arm. “All better. You should heal up in no time.” She glanced down at Syldron and looked genuinely grieved. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything for him,” she whispered. “If I had got here sooner...”

Jett merely gazed at her.

“Jett,” Aric Jorgan said once his team had swept the entire landing platform. Albanar’s body had been covered and taken away. As he spoke, he tried his best to sound gentle though it still came out in a terse grunt. “You need to let go of him.”

It wasn’t until Theron joined them and placed a reassuring hand on Jett’s shoulder did he finally look up from Syldron’s lifeless face.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Jett. You can let go now.”

And finally, Jett did, laying Syldron’s head gently to the floor.

“I closed his eyes.” For some reason, he thought it was important for them to know this. “I wanted him to look as though he was sleeping.”

“That’s right,” Theron muttered. “That’s all right, Jett. Come on. Let’s go now.”

“I still have his lightsabre.” Jett held up the hilt, holding it in his palm like a tool he had no idea how to use.

“You keep hold of it,” Theron said. “Keep hold of it for him, okay?”

After that, things were a bit of a blur. Jett remembered only that more medics were attending to him, adding to the job that Elara Dorne had already begun. Theron, who himself had collected a few superficial cuts and bruises, had the medical droid fussing over him, using its many appendages to wipe off the blood and apply generous doses of kolto. He waved it away and leant towards Jett.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Everything’s going to be all right now.”

He took hold of his hand. Jett did not pull away.

The next thing he remembered was Darred Quell talking to Major Niko Senshii, asking for a full report on the attack.

“All of the White Claw has been driven out of the building,” Senshii said, his helmet rendering his voice with a mechanical quality. “We found the remains of their Director — a woman named Tala Corrik — inside the main lab. We also recovered the body of what we believe to be Lord Albanar, though it would appear our initial reports were incorrect about his species.”

“He fooled us all,” Darred Quell replied, more to himself than to Senshii. “Even his followers never guessed his true identity.”

Jett knew that, sooner or later, they were going to ask him about what happened on the landing platform. It began with Major Senshii interrogating him directly, apparently oblivious to the vegetive-like state he was in. When he failed to get an answer, Darred Quell took over and his approach, though still direct, was kinder.

“I’m going to need you to tell me everything you can about what happened, Jett,” he said. “Can you do that for me?”

He laid a gentle, healing hand on Jett’s shoulder as he did so and, all at once, a warmth spread throughout his body. It filled him with courage, courage enough to nod and to begin recounting what happened the moment they left Theron in the lab and chased Lord Albanar up to the landing platform. Darred Quell was dismayed but not surprised to hear that his Human disguise melted away as soon as the pendant around his neck was destroyed.

“Alchemy,” he muttered. Then, “Did you ever find out how he got his hands on it, Jett? Was he truly Sith?”

Beside them, Niko Senshii, who’d been watching them talk, folded his arms.

“He was a slave to an Imperial family,” he said, “They treated him like an animal, locked him up and tortured him. Then one day — I’m not sure how — he learned secrets of the Sith and used his power to overcome his masters. But the damage had been done. They’d told him how barely sentient he was because he was Cathar. He was never able to let that go.”

There was a silence in which Jett was given something to eat. It was only a few protein bars but he didn’t realise how hungry he was once he devoured them. Now he was ravenous and asked if he could have something a bit more filling.

“Soon,” Quell said. “First, Master Linn would like to speak to you.”

She entered the room shortly after and Jett had never seen her so distressed.

“Oh, Jett!” She clasped both his hands. “What happened? Are you all right? Where’s… Where’s Syldron?”

All at once, the numbness came flooding back. She sensed his answer before he gave it.

“Then he has become one with the Force,” she said quietly. “He and Qo’ra alike. Their sacrifice will be long-remembered.”

At long, long last, he was finally left alone. He had ridden back to the Republic compound in silence and now he was by himself, lying on his bedspread in his quarters, replaying his fight with Lord Albanar as well as his final act of defiance over and over in his mind.

He could have helped him. If Jett had been so broken and brought back onto the right path, surely Albanar could have also been similarly brought back. Then again, Jett had only undergone a few weeks of brainwashing. Albanar most likely suffered for years. He imagined a gaunt-faced Sith Lord sneering at the starving and naked white-furred Cathar through the bars of a durasteel cage. He would’ve tortured him using Force lightning, whipped him, beat him and screamed how inferior his existence was to the rest of the galaxy. All the while the resentment and rage would’ve built up in Albanar until, one day, he snapped.

 _Sometimes,_ he thought _, broken things cannot always be fixed._

The door opened. Jett glanced up to see Theron come into the room. Had it been anyone else, he might have told them to leave him be. He was in no mood for any more questions. He just wanted to fall asleep and forget everything for ten hours.

Wordlessly, Theron shut the door behind him then came to sit next to him on the bed. Jett reached out and Theron immediately settling into the crook. They sat in silence, just holding each other. He had needed this more than anything.

“How are you feeling?”

Theron’s voice was a gentle whisper. Jett closed his eyes.

“Tired.”

“Yeah,” Theron said. “I am too. But at least it’s over now. At least we can rest.” He spent a good while running his fingers through Jett’s chest fur. “Major Senshii told me we’ll be heading back up to the surface soon. He’s received word that Blackstar Squad managed to purge the Senate Tower of any more White Claw agents. Thankfully, there were no casualties. According to him, as soon as they received word their sanctum was raided, they fled.”

“Then we can just move back in?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Don’t you think they’d try to retake it?”

Theron thought for a moment then shook his head. “I doubt it. Now that Albanar is dead, along with a large portion of their forces, they’ll be in disarray. There is a possibility they could strike back but it won’t be for a while at the very least. With such a huge chunk missing from their numbers, any more assaults on a Republic stronghold would wipe them out.”

Jett nodded.

“They’re not gone, though, are they? I mean, what they stood for. I’m sure plenty of Humans who agreed with their ideology would want to rally the cause again.”

Theron shifted uncomfortably.

“Is bigotry ever really gone?”

“One day, it might be.”

“We can only hope.” He smiled. “But this is a great victory, Jett. Not only in defeating them have we showed just how strong the Republic is, but the Empire who sought to take advantage of the situation have scurried back into Imperial space. Seems that they believed their intel was incorrect.”

“Well,” Jett said. “That is good news. I’m not sure we would’ve been able to fend off the White Claw _and_ the Empire.”

“You know, this may be the spy in me talking, but I really thought this whole thing was a conspiracy, that they were just a ploy by the Empire to sow fear and uncertainty within the enemy, to weaken them from the inside in preparation for another strike on Coruscant. But, ultimately, it had nothing to do with the Empire. They have no idea the White Claw exists. I confirmed it with, err… A contact of mine.”

Jett nodded again.

“I thought that too at one point,” he said. “But no. Turns out the White Claw was a purely Republic-based problem.”

Theron shivered. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or concerned.”

“Neither do I.”

They sat in more silence, absorbing what the other had to say. It was all proving a little too much for Jett who, in the comfort and warmth of Theron’s embrace, finally felt his eyelids begin to droop. He fought it off, determined to stay awake; there was more he wanted to say.

“He and I weren’t so different, though. Albanar, I mean.”

Theron frowned. “I assume you mean more than the fact you’re both Cathar.”

“Yes. He was full of such rage, such a primal urge to _hate_ and bring destruction wherever he went, purely out of frustration for being what he was. Sometimes that’s how I feel.”

Theron shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“No, I suppose you don’t. After all, you’re a Human.” He yawned massively.

“You should get some rest,” Theron said, standing up. “I need to meet with Supreme Commander Malcom to discuss our move back to the surface.”

Jett did not let go of his hand as he said, sleepily, “But I want you to stay.”

Theron shushed him, covering him with his bedsheet. “It’s all right. I’ll be here when you wake up. Rest now. I’ll see you when you’re back in the world of the living.”

The pillow against the back of Jett’s head was dangerously comfortable. He shut his eyes again, this time tried to say, “Okay. I’ll see you later,” but all that came out was a grunt as he sank back and sleep finally took him into blissful, restful nothingness.


	30. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Albanar defeated and the White Claw scattered, Jett is commended for his actions but also faces judgment from the Jedi Council who decide his future within the Order.

The shuttle landed smoothly on the ariel platform, its wings folding upwards to allow its legs to spring forth and touch down on the duracrete. It had flown down from a sky that was sunny but full of clouds, swooping through the air like a sand vulture before perching not quite on the surface of Coruscant but as close as the Senate Plaza would allow.

Jett, standing between Master Linn and Darred Quell, watched it, his fur and whiskers rippling in the air current it made as it descended. He could not help but feel an unpleasant lurch as the landing gear descended among a plume of vapour and over a dozen figures walked down the ramp towards them.

Grandmaster Satele Shan along with members of the Jedi Council, in addition to several knights and padawans, looked particularly fierce and impressive as they came forwards to greet them. The wind whipped at their brown robes as they walked, hands hidden in the sleeves of their cloaks. They bowed respectfully and they bowed in turn.

“Master Quell,” Satele said. “Master Linn. I can only apologise that we could not arrive any sooner.”

“It is of no consequence, Grandmaster,” Master Linn replied. “You came as soon as you could.”

Finally, the Grandmaster’s eyes picked out Jett who fought the tremendous urge to turn away or, better yet, run back inside the Senate Tower.

“And you must be Jett,” Satele said. Again, she bowed as if Jett were a Jedi of particular importance. “We owe you a great debt, for all you have done in service to the Republic. Without you, the White Claw would’ve gained an enormous foothold on the galaxy and we might not be standing here talking to one another.”

Jett dipped his head awkwardly, wondering if he should say something. After failing to come up with anything, he just smiled weakly.

“Let us go inside,” Satele said. “We need to talk about what has happened.”

The debrief took well over an hour to complete. Grandmaster Satele and the other masters were keen to hear every detail about the White Claw and their plans to take over the Republic from the inside. Once they had interrogated Master Linn and Master Quell for their side of the story, they then turned to Jett who they spent the longest questioning.

“So you were captured by the White Claw,” Satele said, “and they used a mixture of brain-altering chemicals and Sith Alchemy to turn you over to their side?”

After hesitating for a moment, Jett nodded.

“They made you slaughter a Republic trooper to prove your loyalty,” she went on. “And asked you to invade the last stronghold of our defence?”

“Actually, grandmaster,” Master Linn interrupted, “intelligence has recovered that the trooper in question was, in fact, a White Claw prisoner dressed in Republic military armour. We believe he was discovered to be a traitor to the organisation and was forced to don stolen gear before being executed.”

“Even so,” Master Jaric Kaedon — a lean, grim-faced Human — interjected. “He killed a man in cold blood.”

A muttering rose among the masters for a moment. Jett hung his head.

“Something he was forced to do under duress, Master Kaedon,” the Togruta master, Bela Kiwiiks, responded. “And, if I’m not very much mistaken, something we have forgiven of many Jedi.”

“Indeed,” the male Kel-Dor, Tol Braga, added. “The High Council was very gracious in allowing me to rejoin the ranks of the Jedi after my time serving the Sith Emperor while under his influence.”

“But that was entirely involuntary,” Master Kaedon said. “Forgive me, Master Braga, but you had no control over your actions. Lord Albanar, as powerful as he was, was not the Sith Emperor. He could not have dominated this Jedi’s mind so utterly that he had not, at least in part, acted of his own free will.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree,” Master Oric Tralless said. “While Jett surely was threatened with torture so he would carry out these heinous acts, he could still have put up some resistance. After all, it is what every Jedi is trained to do.”

More muttering. To Jett, it seemed as though much of the masters had made up their mind. Any moment, he expected them to order for his expulsion from the Order. He tried to imagine what life would be like — a disgraced Jedi wandering the galaxy, mixing with the sort of lowlife scum that many would choose to avoid.

Then Master Linn got to her feet.

“If it is not too much trouble for me to add,” she said and Jett was surprised to hear a steely note in her voice. “But I am sensing a distinct lack of empathy in this room.” The masters blanched at her accusation as she gestured towards Jett. “Young Jett is not the Jedi I arrived with all those weeks ago,” she went on. “He has grown and matured in a way I could have never foreseen. He has been through a terrible ordeal and not only did he _resist_ …” She glared at Master Tralless whose lips thinned somewhat. “But he broke the conditioning the White Claw tried their hardest to instil in him. Had it not been for his sheer force of will and his determination to do the right thing no matter what horrors he had experienced, he might still be under their influence and brought about more damage.” She gazed at Jett with a kind of fierce pride, something he had never seen with any Jedi, let alone a master. “Having said that, even if it had taken him longer to shake off their control, it does not change my opinion that this council should look upon him without a single thought of expulsion. He has endured trials few Jedi have ever experienced and has emerged on the other side, unbroken and whole.”

A pensive silence filled the room. Master Kaedon scowled at Master Linn.

“Fine words,” he said. “But I think you’re forgetting that Jett violated the Jedi Code and disobeyed orders long before he was taken in by the White Claw. He flouted security protocols placed on this very building, caused untold property damage and cavorted with criminals.”

“Now, I take exception to that label,” a deep voice said at the door. “I much prefer the term ‘outlaw’.”

They all turned. Narzu’chev was standing there, leaning casually against the frame, his blue eyepiece trained on Master Kaedon. The masters gazed upon him as though a Sith Lord had wandered into their midst, but none with more evident dislike than Kaedon.

“This is a private meeting,” he said, face thunderous, “involving Jedi business that is no concern of yours. How dare you barge in as if—!”

Grandmaster Satele raised a hand.

“Peace, Master Kaedon,” she said and the master settled back in his chair, expression clearing somewhat. She turned to address Narzu’chev. “I’m afraid, he’s right. You are not allowed to be here.”

Narzu’chev shrugged. “I end up in a lot of places I shouldn’t be.”

“Then say your piece,” Satele said, acknowledging him with a nod. “I sense you have a lot to say on Jett’s behalf.”

“No doubt he can speak for himself,” Narzu’chev replied, winking at Jett. “But I thought I’d jump to his defence seeing you lot are determined to throw him into the gutter.” He took in a deep breath, unfolding his arms. “Jett Jhazar is, by far, one of the finest warriors I have ever seen. He is, at heart, a true representation of his people — brave, fearless, a fierce hunter and a fighter, through-and-through. I imagine even the legendary Jedi, Sylvar, will be enormously proud to watch him in battle. When I first met him, he was willing to do whatever it took to take the White Claw down. He didn’t need to say it. His aura said all that it needed to. I even showed him a vision of what was yet to come if the White Claw succeeded. He didn’t back out. He didn’t run away. He continued to fight on, despite overwhelming odds.” He paused, glancing around at the masters with something like disgust on his face. “When I encountered him again, he was a changed man, true. But not, I sensed, by his own doing. His warrior spirit was, at least temporarily, broken. No, it was _warped_. Warped by a poison no Jedi in this room would be able to resist. And yet, with a little bit of help, he came through. He came back to the other side. The Force only knows how he managed it but he did. That, to me at least, says all we need to know about his true allegiance.”

It was at that moment, Jett sensed that Satele Shan was looking at him. Her face was, as usual, inscrutable but he could feel her probing him with the Force. He looked away, afraid she might see Theron’s face in his thoughts.

“Why he chooses to still be a member of the Jedi, I’ll never know,” Narzu’chev went on. “Then again, given my history with this House of Hypocrisy, I may be biased. But I know a truly worthy Jedi when I see one. And he is standing right in front of you.”

He let these words sink in. They were met with many furtive glances and, in some cases, looks of disapproval. Master Kaedon most of all looked particularly displeased.

“Now, if after all I said falls on deaf auditory organs and you choose to ignore common sense by expelling him,” Narzu’chev said. “I want you all to know that he will have a place as a part of my crew on board the _Emerald Flame_ if ever he wants to join. That way at least he can still do some good.”

More silence slipped by until Satele straightened in her chair.

“Very well,” she said. “Thank you, Narzu’chev. You may go. And, I might say, the same invitation still stands for you. If at any time you wish to rejoin the Jedi Order, then you are welcome to do so.”

The looks of surprise from many of the masters were louder than any shout of protest. Master Kiwiiks glanced at the master beside her while Master Kaedon’s mouth fell open. Narzu’chev, however, was completely nonplussed.

“Not in this millennium,” he said.

He turned and left.

Though he was no longer in the room, Narzu’chev’s presence seemed to linger. It certainly seemed to rattle the masters who looked baffled and perturbed by what they had just witnessed. Master Kaedon’s face was now completely blank. He merely sat back, stroking his narrow chin as though deep in thought.

“It is decided then,” Darred Quell called out over the gathering. “Jett Jhazar will not face expulsion from the Jedi Order nor will he be put on trial for any of his misdeeds. Chancellor Saresh may say differently but I, for one, hopes she too sees sense and clears him of all charges.”

“Agreed,” Satele Shan said. “Now, let us move onto other matters.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. By the time it was over, Jett still sat in his seat staring dumbly at the floor while everybody else filed out of the room. Cleared of all charges. That was better than he could have ever hoped for. And yet a strong part of him wanted to chase down Narzu’chev and take him up on his offer on joining his outlaw crew aboard the _Emerald Flame._ Half the Order wanted him ejected, no matter what he’d done. Would it be worth sticking around if it meant constant glares from masters such as Kaedon as if he’d got away with assassinating the whole Senate?

He was brought out of his reverie by Master Linn who approached him with another master trailing behind her.

“Jett,” she said, “this is Master Tamos.”

Master Tamos lowered his hood revealing the fierce features of a brown-furred Cathar with blazing orange eyes. He tilted his maned head in greeting.

“A pleasure to meet you, Jett,” he said in a calm but deep voice. “Master Linn tells me that you needed some… expertise in regards to our species’ biology.”

Jett looked at Tamos’ face, whose whiskers were flecked with grey, then turned back to the Kel-Dor.

“It’s all right,” she said, giving Jett a reassuring pat on the arm. “I know this is personal. I will leave you two alone.”

She did just that, following the other masters until it was only the two Cathar. Hands in his sleeves, Tamos sat down beside Jett. His presence in the Force, though calming, was quite impressive, making Jett uneasy.

“So, young Jett,” he said at last. “What is it you wish to ask of me?”

Jett scratched his ear. “Well. It’s, um…” He almost wished Tamos could read his mind and just say what he wanted to know. He sighed. “It’s about my _rakktarr_.”

Tamos nodded, politely. “I see. Go on.”

“Well, I just wondering. How do you, you know, as a Jedi… Keep a handle on it?”

He expected Tamos to baulk at this, wondering how a Jedi of Jett’s age hadn’t mastered anything so simple yet. But he didn’t. He nodded in understanding.

“It is a difficult thing,” he said. “Many Cathar Jedi struggle with it. Most use meditative techniques to help keep it under control. Of course, the Order allowed us to find a mate back before attachments were made forbidden by the Code, Sylvar being a famous example, though her mate proved why such attachments can be dangerous.”

Jett waved a hand, not interested in hearing another lecture about the temptations of the Dark Side.

“I’ve tried meditation,” he said. “And medication, all kinds of suppressants. But nothing works. It comes back every month as strong as the last.”

Tamos nodded again. “I can sense you are going through it right now,” he said. “Even without the Force; the pheromones you’re shedding are extremely potent. More than any other Cathar I’ve ever met, as a matter of fact.”

Jett, rather than reassured, felt more self-conscious.

“I spoke with Aric Jorgan,” he said. “He told me his father had an unusual condition in which his _rakktarr_ was so intense that he had to be locked in a room. He couldn’t restrain himself, no matter how hard he tried. I believe he called it _rakktarr-ka_.”

Tamos blinked in surprise.

“I have not heard of such a condition.”

Whatever hope had been building up in Jett drained out of him.

“But I can’t live like this!” he cried, getting to his feet. “Master Tamos, you must help me! There have to be scientists on Cathar or some advanced medical facility who must know how to treat this.”

Tamos thought for a moment.

“We can certainly reach out to those who might able to help. But I want to let you know, Jett, I cannot make any promises.” He looked him up and down. “I must say, however, for someone in the throes of it, you seem to have remarkable hold of yourself.”

Jett glanced away. Once again, his mind filled with Theron.

“I have methods,” he confessed. “But I’m need something more permanent.”

“I see. Well, crude as they are, I suggest you keep using those methods for now. In the meantime, I will get in touch with people I’m certain will be able to help you. You have my word.”

Jett bowed. “Thank you, Master Tamos. You’ve been a great help.”

Tamos stood again and bowed in return. “It is the least I can do. After all, you saved the Republic from a mad tyrant.”

“He was one of us,” Jett said, his voice touched with cold. “Another Cathar.”

“Yes.” Tamos bowed his head. “It is always a tragedy to see one of our kind fall so far. Self-hatred can be destructive, even more so than the affliction which you suffer. Thankfully, however, it too can be cured. It was a shame Lord Albanar chose another path. I only hope he has found the peace he so desperately needed.”

Upon exiting the chamber, Jett was surprised to see Master Linn and Master Satele waiting for him. Tamos bowed to them.

“Masters,” he said, then to Jett, “I will be in touch.”

As he walked away, Jett’s trepidation returned.

“There’s no need for alarm,” Satele said. “We just want to talk to you.”

“It’s about Qo’ra,” Master Linn said solemnly. “And Syldron. Both lost their lives in this fight and neither has received a proper burial.”

“You were closest to them,” Satele said. “What do you recommend we should do?”

Jett thought for a moment.

“Bury them on Tython,” he said. “Together. So that the Order may remember the sacrifice they made to keep the Republic safe.”

“Very well,” Satele said. “It shall be done. I will see to it also that their lightsabres are displayed above their resting place.”

“They deserve much more than that,” Master Linn said, head bowed in sorrow.

“We will do what we can to honour their memory.” Though the words were meant to be soothing, the way Satele delivered them was so detached Jett wondered if she cared much at all. “A ceremony back on Tython should suffice.”

Master Linn nodded then turned back to Jett. “We’ll be leaving for Tython in a couple of days,” she said. “Will you be joining us?”

Jett wasn’t sure he liked the tone of her voice. It seemed to hint towards something that she wasn’t letting on. He glanced at Satele. Had the two of them been talking, speculating about him and Theron?

“Of course,” he said at last. “How can I not?”

Master Linn looked grateful. “Then I will see you for the journey home.” She made a sudden movement as if she was resisting the urge to hug him. Instead, she bowed. Dropping all pretence, Jett moved forward and hugged her anyway. He could feel the cool sting of disapproval from Master Satele but he ignored it and so did Tetr Linn who accepted his embrace with hesitant affection.

Once she had moved away after a final pat of Jett’s arm, he found himself alone with the Grandmaster who was regarding him with her usual implacable stare.

“I spoke to Agent Shan just before we touched down,” she said. “He gave me a brief overview of everything before the meeting started. Going by his report, you and he appear to have become… close.”

Jett raised an eyebrow.

“You are talking about Theron, right?” he said. “Sorry, it’s kind of hard when you don’t refer to him by name.”

Satele caught onto his meaning. “He insists that is what I call him when speaking of him to others. His choice, not mine.”

“And if you had a choice, what would you call him?”

“That is not my decision to make. I surrendered the right to do what I please in matters concerning Agent Shan the moment I decided that he should be raised by Master Zho.”

 _The moment you abandoned him, you mean,_ Jett thought but kept his mouth shut.

“In any case,” she said, “That is all in the past. What matters now is the relationship between the two of you.”

“Are you going to tell me to keep away from him?” Jett asked. “To be wary of attachment, lest it leads me to the Dark Side?”

“Apparently I don’t have to,” she said. “But no. I sensed your inner strength while we discussed your fate among the Order. A lot of it came from him.” She sighed. “It is said that, oftentimes, the redemptive powers of love can break the spell of the Dark Side. Such a thing is possible, yes, but at what cost?”

Jett said nothing.

“While I have no business interfering in Agent’s Shan’s love life,” she went on, “as a member of a Jedi Order, I do have a say in yours and must caution you that love, though wonderful, can be a terrible thing. Loss of the thing you most love can lead to powerful and negative emotions. It is those emotions that drove Lord Albanar to commit his many crimes. Do not let the same happen to you.”

“So you’re not punishing me,” he said, “for seeking relations outside the Order?”

“No.” Her blue lips twitched into what had to be a rare, wry smile. “Agent Shan would never forgive me if I did. But I also sense you won’t end things no matter what I say, and I know when I am beaten. Just be wary of the other masters, especially Kaedon.”

“I have a feeling he’ll look to expel me in any case.”

The smile grew wider. For the first time, her resemblance to Theron shone through. “He may be prickly but his heart is in the right place.” She turned and began to walk away, hands clasped behind her back. “Oh, and in case you’re wondering, Agent Shan is on the lower plaza. I believe he’s talking to the Supreme Commander.”

Jett stared. “How do you know that?”

She paused, not turning around. “I have my ways.”

He watched her until she vanished up the corridor. Then, wary, he headed towards the lower plaza. Sure enough, Theron was there standing next to a pillar along with Supreme Commander Jace Malcom. Their emotions rode towards him — stiff and formal, but otherwise civil. Before he reached them, Malcom moved away, leaving Theron by himself.

“How’d it go?”

Jett smiled. “Didn’t even get a smack on the wrist.”

Theron sighed in relief. “That was pretty much what the Supreme Commander said. Let off but with a stern warning. That and we’re expected to appear at an award ceremony later this afternoon. To be honest, I was expecting much worse.”

“Yeah,” Jett said. “Me too.”

“Guess we should be thankful, huh?”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence fell between them. To Jett, it seemed as though he had gone back in time. It could well have been the day they met — the two of them trying to make conversation in the halls of the senate, unaware of the danger that lay just around the corner. Now the danger had passed, it seemed odd that the two of them should just be standing here normally without any thought as to what perils they may plunge into.

“I, erm…” Jett scuffed his feet a little against the ground, unsure if it was wise to bring this up. “I just spoke with Satele.”

As he had predicted, Theron immediately stiffened and folded his arms.

“In private, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did you talk about?

“You.”

“Oh.” Theron bit the inside of his lip. “I suppose she told you to stay far away from me.”

“Not for the reasons you think.”

Theron nodded. “I suppose you’ll be returning to Tython soon.”

“In a few days.”

“Oh, good. I mean, good that you’re staying for a while not that you’re going away. I didn’t mean it like—”

Jett laughed. “I knew what you meant.”

This made Theron smile. Whatever tension had arisen between them had dissipated with just that one sentence.

“So, I was thinking,” Theron said, scratching his neck. “That maybe we could… Go for a drink or something?”

“I’d love to,” Jett said. “But not just yet. There’s something I need to do first.”


	31. Mastery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In recognition of their achievements, Jett and Theron attend an award ceremony but they have other things on their minds as they reflect on the future of their relationship. 
> 
> **WARNING: This chapter contains sexually explicit scenes**

Jett took in a deep breath, swallowed and adjusted the collar of his robes which was chaffing his fur slightly. He couldn’t believe, after everything he’d been through, that he was actually _nervous_. He closed his eyes, allowing calm to wash over him, then stepped into the chamber.

Eleven hooded figures stood in a circle in the centre of the room. The twelfth, who stood in the middle of the circle they made, wore her usual combat tunic with her elegantly carved sabrestaff hanging from her hip.

Satele Shan gestured.

“Step forward, young Jett.”

Jett obeyed, his nervousness increasing despite himself. He was much taller and broader than Satele, who’s slender frame disguised a power that radiated light in the Force, yet he felt insignificant as he stood in front of her, even more so as he sunk to his knees in a bow.

Head bent, he did not see the lightsabres being activated, but he heard them — a collective hiss and hum that resonated throughout the opulent chamber. The lights had dimmed to accommodate for the glow which every blade emitted. He saw Satele’s hand reach for her own weapon’s hilt but she did not activate quite yet.

“Jett Jhazar,” she intoned with all the authority of her status. “By the right of the council, by the will of the Force…” Her lightsabre sprang to life as she held it aloft. In turn, she lowered the shimmering blue blade over each of Jett’s shoulders. His nose filled with the smell of ozone and his ears with the sound of its deadly hum. “I dub thee Jedi Master of the Republic.” She withdrew her weapon. “Now, you may rise.”

Trembling, he got to his feet again. As he did so, the other masters lowered their lightsabres, angling them towards the floor as a mark of respect.

But the ceremony was not over.

“I believe you have constructed a new weapon for yourself,” Satele said.

Jett nodded. “I have, Master.”

“Then take it, Master Jhazar, and use it as a light against the darkness.”

Another cloaked figure stepped forward, hooded and robed like the rest, but holding a box. With a bow, it raised the box towards Jett, opening it to reveal his brand new second lightsabre, its silver hilt glistening in the light of the masters’ blades. Jett reached out and picked it up. Unsure, he glanced at Satele. She nodded.

With a single, powerful burst of lightning, the blue blade sprang forth. It shimmered and sizzled before him, weightless yet heavy with purpose, an azure torch that would be a guiding light against the dark, as Master Satele had said. He raised it above his head, clasping the handle with both hands. The blade shone ever brighter, not just with the light of its own energy, but also with that of the Force. All the masters imitated him, each holding their blades above their heads before lowering them.

“Congratulations, Jett,” Satele said as the room brightened and all lightsabre blades retracted back into their hilts. “You are now a Jedi Master.”

Still mute, Jett could only nod in response.

“You must now take a padawan,” the grandmaster went on, “to solidify your new status in the Order.”

“Who should I choose?”

“You may decide that once we return to Tython. But there is no need to rush. We are certain the right padawan will come to you when you are both ready.”

Jett could only stare at the hilt of his lightsabre, fist slowly curling around it tightly.

“Is there something troubling you?”

He shook his head. “I just wish all this hadn’t come at such a great cost.”

Satele bowed her head. “We have all suffered greatly as a result of this latest struggle, none more so than you. But do not despair — the Force chose this path for you and although you have endured many trials, it led you here.” She raised a reassuring hand. “Keep your mind in the present, young Jett. The future is never guaranteed and the past is set in stone. The Force works in mysterious ways. We can only observe its mechanisation through the lens of the current moment. Remember that.”

Jett found it difficult to bite back a retort. It was all fine and well for her to lecture him about the will of the Force, but she had not witnessed the horrors he had down on Level 157. She hadn’t been tortured into obedience by the White Claw, nor had she watched her friends brutally slaughtered in front of her.

Perhaps she could sense his resentment because, after a long pause, she said, “Go. Chancellor Saresh has requested your presence. The award ceremony will begin soon.”

He did not want to go; he was in no mood for hundreds of people staring at him as Chancellor Saresh made a rambling speech about bravery and the strength of the Republic. Regardless, he clipped his lightsabre to his belt, bowed, then left the chamber. He felt all the masters watching him until he was back out in the corridor. Only until he was halfway down he allowed himself to stop and take a breath.

Jedi _Master_.

He could hardly believe it. He never would have thought he would become one so soon in his Jedi career. It seemed only yesterday that he was a padawan. Indeed, he hadn’t thought he’d reached masterhood until he was at least as old as Satele was, whose true age was anyone’s guess. But then, he had aged ten years during the last month. As Master Linn had rightly pointed out — few Jedi had gone through what he had. Even Master Darred Quell had been impressed with how well he broke through his conditioning. 

He met Theron in the main auditorium, leaning against a pillar.

“Hey!” he said, eyes lighting up at once. “How did it go?”

Jett showed him his new lightsabre hilt. “Well, you won’t ever have to call me a Jedi Knight anymore. I am now officially a Jedi Master.”

Theron’s jaw dropped.

“Jedi Master?” he said. “Woah.” Without thinking, it seemed, he threw his arms around Jett in an enormous hug. When Jett didn’t return it, he let go, coughed awkwardly then said, still smiling, “I’m so proud of you.”

Jett said nothing.

“You don’t seem too happy about it, though.”

“I should’ve been expelled,” he said. “Instead, they gave me a new lightsabre and a pat on the back, telling me how the Force guided me on this path. But it was all nonsense! They knew as well as I that I don’t deserve it. How can I when I can barely master my _rakktarr_?”

Theron stared at him.

“Then why don’t you go back to them and return that lightsabre?”

“What?”

“If that’s truly how you feel, go back to Satele and tell her you don’t want to be Jedi anymore.” He folded his arms. “Go on. I won’t stop you.”

Jett didn’t move.

“I— I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because… Because then it would all be for nothing!” He had raised his voice without realising it. It echoed around the hall, causing a few passing senators to look round. “Everything we fought for, all the friends we lost. Qo’ra and Syldron’s sacrifice would’ve been in vain.”

“Exactly,” Theron said. He took Jett’s fingers gently in his hand and closed them around the polished sabre hilt. “And what better way to honour their memory than to take up the mantle of master and making sure that their deaths meant something? Better than self-pity and feeling guilty for being alive when they’re not, right?”

Tears stung Jett’s eyes. Now it was his turn to throw his arms around Theron. This time, he didn’t care who saw.

“You’ll make a great master,” Theron whispered in his ear. “I know it. Now, come on! The Chancellor is waiting.”

By the time they arrived at the main audience chamber, it was full of people. Republic soldiers, senators and civil servants alike all stood to attention as Jett and Theron made their way up the central aisle. Before them, standing behind a podium, was Chancellor Saresh, looking regal and authoritative in her ceremonial robes. Her back was straight and her head held high as she regarded them. To her right side, Jedi Masters Tetr Linn and Darred Quell stood, along with Nadia Grell, Liberi Mondi, Qyzen Fess and Narzu’chev. To her left stood Supreme Commander Jace Malcom, Generals Garza and Var Suthra, Major Niko Senshii as well as the rest of Havoc Squad, and a few other soldiers who stood behind them. Jett caught the eye of Aric Jorgan who nodded in respect. Jett acknowledged the other Cathar’s greeting with a hand pressed to his chest.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Chancellor Saresh said the moment they reached the front of the chamber. “We are gathered here today to honour the presence of two heroes who, with their enormous efforts, have helped save our Republic — Agent Theron Shan of the SIS, and Jedi Master Jett Jhazar.”

The room cheered as both stepped forth onto the podium. The Chancellor stepped forward. Beside her, Jace Malcom appeared holding with two medals.

“You have defeated Lord Albanar,” she continued, “put an end to his plans and scattered the White Claw to the far ends of the planet. It is only a matter of time before we round up the rest of them and bring them to justice.” She reached forth and pulled up the first medal which she attached to Theron’s jacket. “For this, I award each of you the Republic’s highest honour — the Cross of Glory.” She took the second medal and pinned it to the front of Jett’s robes. Jett couldn’t help but grin but the Chancellor remained impassive. “From Coruscant to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, you will be known as heroes of the Republic.”

More cheering and applause. At this, Master Quell stepped forward, almost as tall as Jett but far more impressive in his broad stature. Unlike the chancellor, he was far warmer with his expression.

“As Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order,” he said, “and on behalf of the Jedi Council, I would like to express our deepest gratitude. If it were not for your actions, Coruscant would be overrun by a terrorist hate group. As it happens, your actions have had far wider consequences than we could have foreseen. Citizens of the underlevels have risen up and overthrown the criminal cartels who make their lives a misery. Black Sun has fled, the Justicars have disbanded, and Old Galactic Market has been handed back over to Republic hands. We expect to witness an era of peace on Coruscant we have not experienced in a long time. We can only hope this spreads further out into the galaxy at large.

“Your exploits have woven another thread in the tapestry of history and will go down as some of the most legendary tales of the Jedi Order. Once again, you may be called upon to help defend the galaxy against the oppression of the Dark Side. Never once must you falter in your efforts to help bring peace to our glorious Republic, for this is the destiny of every Jedi and those who choose to fight for freedom and tolerance.”

The cheering intensified as Jett and Theron turned to face the crowd. It was, Jett had to admit to himself, a glorious moment. It may have been full of pomp and circumstance, and the whole thing might not have happened had Master Linn not talked the Chancellor into it, but he would remember this for the rest of his life.

Hours later, he still kept glancing at the Cross of Glory on his chest as if to make sure it was still there. He and Theron were reclining in seats at The Nebula _—_ one of the classiest bars on the whole of Coruscant. If they had things their way, they might have gone to somewhere a bit louder where they could have a private conversation without the fear of serving droids wandering past and overhearing every word. But the senators and soldiers who toasted them back in the audience chamber insisted on bringing them here. Now, as they sipped their champagne and watched said senators get rowdier, they finally felt it was okay to talk.

“The Cross of Glory,” Theron muttered. He wiped his own with a thumb. “Never thought I’d ever get one of these. They always save them for military heroes, not spies like me. And I bet even fewer Jedi get them.”

Jett nodded. “The only one I can think of is Revan — you know, after he blew up the Star Forge. Even after he turned to the Dark Side and tried to invade the galaxy…” He stopped, realising something. “He was never expelled from the order,” he said. “Despite all he did, all the crimes he committed against the Republic, they honoured him anyway.”

“Because blowing up an ancient superweapon kind of outweighs any misdeeds you might have done,” Theron agreed, chuckling.

Then Jett realised something else.

“He’s your ancestor. Yours and Satele’s, I mean.”

Theron spluttered a little on his champagne, wiping some spilt drops off his jacket. “Say it loud enough and everyone might hear,” he muttered. “Yes, Revan is my ancestor, though that hardly says much. Shan is still a pretty common Human name.”

“And Theron,” Jett said, grinning. “You know, I met another Theron at the reception. He was part of Master Darred’s crew — Tharan Cedrax. Bit of a weirdo; his girlfriend is a hologram. Anyway, I told him about you and he drunkenly said that you probably spell your name ‘the stupid way’.”

“How very rude of him,” Theron said with a smirk. “Though, at least my boyfriend isn’t a hologram.”

They laughed for a moment then stopped, glancing away at each other awkwardly. It was the first time the word “boyfriend” had been mentioned between them. Jett didn’t know how to feel about that. He was a Jedi Master now. That carried a lot of responsibility, regardless of the code forbidding attachment. Could he realistically pursue a relationship?

Standing, up, Theron pretended to stretch.

“I need some fresh air,” he said rather hurriedly.

“Me too,” Jett said, also getting to his feet.

They went out onto one of The Nebula _’_ s many lush balconies. A dazzling couple dressed in fine senatorial robes stood chatting on the far side but went in once Jett and Theron appeared, peering over the lip to gaze down at the ceaseless Coruscanti traffic and the glow of its many, many lights.

Neither of them said a word for a moment, staring off in opposite directions so as not to look each other in the eye. Then, they turned and started speaking at the same time, stopped, then laughed.

“You go first,” Jett said.

“Oh, no!” Theron gestured grandly. “After you.”

Amused, Jett took hold of the balcony rail and considered the canyons of skyscrapers before him. It occurred to him many important conversations he had with Theron took place on balconies. It seemed to be one of the few places the two of them could be themselves.

 _Out in the open_ , he thought. _How very strange._

“Do we want to do this?” he said at last. “You and me. I mean, what does this all mean for us going forward? I’m a Master now and the SIS is going to need you more than ever.”

Theron took a while to answer.

“I don’t see how that makes a difference,” he said, tentatively. “We can still be together, right? Unless you don’t want to.”

He sounded so crestfallen Jett was taken aback.

“Of course I do!” He took Theron’s hand and kissed it. “More than anything.”

“Then why stop? Why not carry on as we were? Sure, our professions might get in the way, but we can figure something out. Right?”

Jett wanted to believe it. He really did.

“I’m just scared,” he said.

“Of what?”

“That it might mean we don’t get to see each other for months at a time. As far as I know, the Order could send me to some planet in the Outer Rim for the war effort while you’re stuck here filling out paperwork for the SIS.”

Theron’s face grew steadily more distressed as he thought about it.

“But then,” he said, “won’t that make moments like this all the sweeter? Don’t get me wrong, I would love nothing more than to be with you all the time, wherever you go. But at least this way, we won’t get sick of each other.”

Jett felt his features soften.

“I could never get sick of you.”

“Nor I, you.”

Something else seemed to be bothering Theron. Jett could feel it in the Force.

“What is it?”

“It’s just…” he swallowed. “One thing that worries me, when we’re apart and you’re feeling lonely, is that you’ll find some other dashingly handsome Republic spy to fall into bed with.”

Jett shook his head, disbelieving.

“That will never happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

He took his hand again, this time clasping it in both his own. “Are you forgetting what I told you? Once a Cathar chooses a mate, they are bonded for life. No one else will hold any sway over them, not even through the strongest temptation.”

“But then,” Theron said, an edge of panic coming into his voice, “what if you find someone better than me and chose them to be your mate?”

Jett felt the familiar lump appear in his throat, the lump that no amount of Jedi discipline could suppress. He leant towards Theron, hand tracing the edge of his jawline.

“I already have chosen,” he said.

“You have?”

“Yes.” Theron’s scent once again filled Jett’s nose, full of life and sweetness and so much truth. “It’s you, Theron Shan. It always has been. And it always will be.”

Theron let out a small sob as he planted his lips of Jett’s own. Jett folded into the kiss, embraced it, along with the rush of pure joy he felt at realising what he said was true. Regardless of species, regardless of the need for procreation, Theron was his mate. No one, not the Jedi, nor even a distance of a thousand lightyears, could ever take that from them. They were now bonded, both by biology and the Force.

Forever.

By the time they came apart, the need to make every moment of this wonderful night count overcame them both. They slipped away from the celebrations towards Theron’s speeder, breaking into a run the moment it came into sight parked on its pad. In next to no time, they were speeding through the night, weaving through traffic as the sky towers flashed past them. They kept leaning over to kiss and touch each other, making a few others blast their horns as the speeder drifted dangerously in their path. But they just laughed, enjoying the thrill of it all.

They had barely got into Theron’s apartment as they began to undress. They didn’t even pause for breath as their garments fell away from them until they were pressed keenly against each other, bare and naked. Jett carried Theron over towards the kitchen where he rested him on the island counter. Theron spread his legs eagerly over Jett’s throbbing member.

“Make me yours, Jett,” he whimpered. “Please.”

Jett obliged, all too enthusiastically. As he entered Theron, there was a smoothness and ease to it all that felt more natural than anything that had passed between them thus far. The two were positively glowing with heat, Theron wrapping his legs around the width of Jett’s immense, furry body to better accommodate his manhood. For his part, Jett didn’t hold back. He pushed as deep into Theron as he could go, marvelling at the feeling of his warmth around his penis, revelling in the feeling of the two of them joining together in body and spirit. He grabbed Theron’s throbbing dick as they continued their rhythm, surrendering to the urge of giving him a wet, sloppy kiss now and then. It was altogether delightful and cathartic, and the longer it went on, the more Jett didn’t want it to end. Neither did Theron, who pushed up against him, even raising his body off the counter with one arm to get better manoeuvre. He sighed and moaned like a man in the throes of absolute ecstasy. Sweat dripped from every pore, his face flushed red and his eyes seemed to roll into the back of his head as he shut them and bit his lip, only for his mouth to open again into a perfect ‘O’ as Jett thrust even deeper inside him.

“Oh, Jett,” he moaned. “Oh, Jett… I love you!”

Grunting and growling under his breath, Jett leant over his lover, kissed him once again, this time softly and tenderly.

“And I love you, Theron Shan.”

Their climax could have woken all of Coruscant. Hell, it could’ve escaped the atmosphere and echoed across the stars. It was so orgasmic, such an enormous release that Jett almost collapsed from the sheer force of it. As he emptied himself inside Theron, he knew now that this was it. There was no going back from this night.

They were bonded for life.

Theron sighed wantonly, pushing himself against Jett one last time to get as much of his seed as he could. Jett took hold of him and picked him off the counter so the two can be closer together once more.

“Oh, Jett,” Theron sighed once again as they made their way into the bedroom and Jett lay him on the bed. “This is the happiest night of my life.”

Jett curled up beside him, letting his Human mate burrow into his warm fur. He had never felt so tender towards anyone as he played with a lock of Theron’s brown hair.

“Yeah,” he croaked, his heart overwhelmed by pure contentment. “Mine too.”


	32. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As dawn rises over Coruscant, Jett and Theron discuss what the galaxy might have in store for them and if they are ready to meet it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to personally thank everyone who has read and enjoyed this fanfic. I have seriously enjoyed working on it and seeing you all connect with the characters as I have has made what has otherwise been a dark year a little bit brighter. Here's to a healthy and prosperous 2021!

The morning was dawning bright and clear. Artificial lamps extinguished to give way to the sun which crept over the horizon slowly and without hindrance, fulfilling its daily mission to reach into every window and embrace everyone it touched with its warmth. At least, everybody it could reach.

Jett Jhazar watched it all, grateful he was alive to be able to witness another sunrise, whatever planet it happened to be on. It did not quite match the majesty of dawn on Cathar, but it was still beautiful; the way it made the sky towers glitter and bounced off the windshield of every air speeder came extremely close to sublime.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he sank deeper into the chair he sat in. He was alone on Theron’s balcony, a heavy blanket wrapped over his hunched body. He had been out here for some hours, having spent the night troubled by recent memories. Though the scars he’d obtained during his recent battles were, at last, starting to fade, he knew the scars on his mind would take much longer to heal, if they ever would. He had been through trials few Jedi ever experienced, Master Linn had said. He had suffered and endured so much in such a short time.

_It was the will of the Force._

But was it? Was it the will of the Force for him to lose two of his closest comrades? Was it the will of the Force to have so many suffer and die at the hands of the White Claw? Indeed, was it the will of the Force for the Jedi and the Sith to be forever locked in an eternal struggle over dominance of the galaxy? If so, then the Force had a horrible sense of humour.

“Room for one more?”

Theron had stepped out onto the balcony, dressed in nothing but his underwear. His arms were folded over his chiselled torso against the chill of the morning breeze. Jett raised an arm.

“Always.”

The two snuggled together beneath the blanket. Theron rested his head against Jett’s chest with a contented sigh and Jett drew him further in as if wanting to take him into his very being. At that moment, both their essences could have merged into one.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Jett shook his head. “I get the feeling that I won’t get a decent night’s sleep for at least a decade.”

Theron nodded.

“Sometimes I wonder how we can sleep,” he said, “when there’s so much to be afraid of.”

“Yeah,” Jett said. “The Sith are pretty scary.”

Theron raised his head. “I wasn’t even talking about them. I meant here, on Coruscant. This planet alone is enough to give anyone bad dreams.” He looked out over the balcony, contemplating the morning traffic which was slowly starting to build. “Then again, I guess there are shadows underneath every sun.”

They sat in silence for a while, burrowing into the blankets, and each other’s, warmth. The sound of Theron’s slow breathing against his chest filled Jett with such gladness it was almost cathartic. How much easier life would be with more moments like this? Just the two of them. Together. Enjoying each other’s company.

“I just hope,” Theron said, “that we helped things a little. The White Claw isn’t gone. Many of their agents are still out there. But soon, we’ll have captured enough to prevent them reorganising.”

“That won’t be easy,” Jett said, “what with the war going on and all.”

“No,” Theron admitted. “But as long as we fight for peace...”

“Peace,” Jett said with more than an ounce of bitterness, “never lasts very long. It seems to be the way of things.”

Theron looked at him, frowning. “How do you mean?”

“Barely thirty years ago, the galaxy was knee-deep in the biggest conflict since the Great Hyperspace War. Trillions dead, all because a few powerful people want a huge chunk of empty space. Because that’s what the galaxy is made of more than stars and planets and asteroids — empty space. It’s ridiculous when you think about it.” He sighed. “It’s just… I’m _so_ tired of war. Even the smaller ones. Why can’t it all just end?”

Seeing his despondent expression, Theron took Jett’s face by the cheeks and kissed him tenderly.

“Me too, Big Guy,” he said. “Me too. But at least we have each other now. Whatever it is we’ll face next, we’ll do it together.”

Despite himself, Jett felt himself smile. “Do you promise?”

“Hand on heart.”

Jett grinned. “You know, it’s traditional for Cathar to take their mates back to the homeworld. It’s part of a ceremony that makes your bonding official and legal in the eyes of our people.”

Theron leaned back from him slightly, eyes widening.

“You mean… like a wedding?”

“Sort of. But it has a deeper meaning. It’s more… spiritual.”

“Oh.”

Jett’s grin faded. “You don’t sound too keen on it.”

“No, I am! I’d love to visit your homeworld. But will the Order allow it?”

Drawing him in again, Jett stroked Theron’s chin with his forefinger.

“Who says they have to know? We could do it in secret. Besides, after everything we’ve done for them and the Republic, it would be ungracious of them to not make an exception.”

“But then we’d have to live a lie. I don’t know if I could do that.”

“You’re a spy. Isn’t lying what you do every day?”

Theron’s cheeks reddened. “It’s not quite as simple as that. I pick locks, too.”

They chuckled.

“Don’t think I’m forcing this on you, though,” Jett said. “If you’re not ready, it can wait.”

Theron settled back into his chest, looking relieved.

“I think waiting a bit would be a good idea.”

“Anyway, I don’t know how my kind will take to an interspecies union. There hasn’t been a Human/Cathar union for more than a century. As for a Human _male_ …” He huffed as he stroked Theron’s hair. “Well, to hell with them! If they don’t like it, we’ll make our own damn ceremony. We’ll go into Imperial space if that’s what it takes.”

Theron looked worried. “I hope you don’t mean that.”

“Of course, I don’t!” The suggestive grin returned. “Although, given my species, you’d have to be my master, and I your slave.”

He was pleased to feel Theron stiffen at the thought.

“Stang,” he said, licking his lips. “But why go all the way to the Empire when we can pretend to be just that right here and now?”

“You make a fair point.”

“But since you got your new rank, shouldn’t I be the one calling you _Master_?”

“Only if you’re my padawan.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.

They kissed again and the sun rose higher, illuminating Galactic City in its vast, orange glow. Jett stood up, Theron still in his arms, the blanket draped around them both.

“Now let’s get you inside,” he told him, nuzzling his nose with his own. “I still need to make your breakfast.”

“Oh,” Theron said, his muja fruit scent growing sweeter in Jett’s nostrils. “I’m sure it can wait.”

Together, they retreated into the apartment where there was just the two of them and their love. Above, the sky grew bluer with not a single cloud to spoil it.

It was going to be a beautiful day.


End file.
